Mystery at Flower Inn
by RuthieGreen
Summary: Turn of the century 1890's-1900 Toronto - What if each of our favorite characters made one, life-altering decision that changed their futures?How would fate bring them together, and how much of destiny is inevitable? My first A/U story with a mystery and a twist- T for violence just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: What would happen if each character, William, Julia, George and Thomas made just one significant choice that altered the stream of their life?—But** _ **Fate**_ **would still inevitably, inexorably bring them together anyway? How would they be different and how would they still be the same? How would Toronto police work be different without the influence of William Murdoch and Inspector Brackenreid?**

 _ **What if:**_ **William attends Seminary after all but still leaves before his final vows.** _ **What if:**_ **Julia drops out of medical school and marries the man who impregnates her (and loses the baby);** _ **What if:**_ **Thomas is persuaded to join Margaret's father's plumbing business?** _ **What if:**_ **George follows one of his aunties to Toronto and opens an Inn?**

 **Set in the same turn of the century Toronto, but a slightly different timeline/universe…. How will our heroes fare? Enjoy the mystery and the twist.**

 **Anything in the story that flows well or is grammatically/historically correct is due to my wonderful beta reader on this one— Thank you to** _ **I'd Be**_ _ **Delighted**_ **for your insight and red pencil! Any errors I claim as mine alone. Thank you also "Dutch" & "46-Her." **

**# # #**

 **Mystery at Flower Inn**

 **Prologue**

It was young Mr. 'Red' who ultimately picked 'Daisy' up after getting her coat around her shoulders, and hustled her towards the hallway exit, away from the damp and stuffy chamber where their ceremony had been conducted. Her retching made the boys nervous as well as nauseous, and one or the other of them kept hushing her distress—to no avail. Above their heads, organ music thundered in the lower register for the closing "amen" to the school hymn, followed by a brief pause before Alexander Muir's anthem began.

" _ **In days of yore, from Britain's shore, Wolfe, the dauntless hero came…"**_

Fortunately Muir's tune and accompanying voices covered up the clattering noise of the students' progress through the warren of basement archways, but also signaled the ending of Chapel and dismissal of school for Christmas break. This made the quartet of boys even more anxious to flee before anyone discovered what they had been doing.

"Shut her up!" 'Terrie', dark and small, hissed to 'Red' and then appealed to 'Daisy's' brother. "DO something or we will be caught," he whined. "What if Mr. Murdoch …"

'Fish' pushed the last hallway door open and held it for the others, catching a worried glance from 'Bean's' face. "No one will miss us. They are all absorbed in getting ready to go home, even the Masters are wool-gathering. No one will care. Sommerbank Academy of Toronto has a proud tradition of secrets—secret clubs, secret deals, and the hazing of one day-student will not register to anyone," 'Fish' assured his companions. "Besides, we agreed, even 'Daisy'."

"Why is she so sick?" 'Red' asked angrily, his face flushing red. "We did not agree to that!"

"Relax, relax. We will get her home, make some excuse. She won't say anything about this or anything else now."

They exited the building next to the Chapel's colourful windows depicting St. George's exploits. _**"God save the Queen and Heaven bless, the Maple Leaf forever!**_ _"_ vibrated through the glass into the cold air. Snow was fluttering down from a steel-grey sky, accumulating on the grass. 'Daisy' gasped and begged 'Red' to put her down, fighting his arms around her.

"I feel awful. None of you are sick…" She swayed on her feet and clutched at her brother.

'Red' held up her other side. "You wanted _in_ —now you are in. You swore the oath like we did. Now shut it and we'll take you home." 'Fish' and 'Bean' shared a look of satisfaction. The other two boys, so proud of themselves an hour ago at the prank they were pulling off, wavered in enthusiasm a bit.

'Fish' studied his peers and made a calculated adjustment. "We are in this together, gentlemen. All equally "in" so to speak. Our only loyalty is to each other now. Let's get you two home," he said pointing to brother and sister, "and have a nice holiday, shall we?"

# # #

 **Chapter 1**

Johnny Brackenreid opened the door of the Flower Inn as a courtesy for his tutor, having learned that he must defer to his elders and betters. William Murdoch thanked the youngster and preceded him through a tiled foyer into the warm common room of the Inn, the both of them stamping accumulated snow from their feet.

"Mr. Murdoch!" the proprietor called out pleasantly from behind a polished serving bar. "How goes it out there? Starting to remind me of Newfoundland, I reckon!" He was unpacking a carton of glassware from its sawdust, admiring the glistening pint, tankard and shot sizes that were being set up on the bar.

"Mr. Crabtree! I think if you check the barometer I installed, it is falling, and fast." He took off his homburg and slapped it against his leg to divest it of more snow and turned to his young companion after surveying the high-ceilinged room. "Master Brackenreid, since I do not see your father yet, perhaps you would like to warm up by the fire with some cider?" He paused. "My treat."

Johnny was not about to argue, especially if Mr. Murdoch was paying, a rare occurrence indeed. Even more especially if there were going to be no more math lessons accompanying the warm drink; his twelve-year-old head was stuffed full of numbers as it was, the bane of his existence. His blonde head bobbed eagerly. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!" Johnny shook out his own coat and hung it on a wall peg, before gratefully accepting a mug of cider from Mr. Crabtree and settling into his usual spot near the fire to wait. He retrieved a book from his satchel to pass the time until he was collected for their trip to his aunt's house. Intrigued by people, as always, he also watched the comings and goings of lodgers and wayfarers from his anonymous bench tucked in close by the hearth, next to a pair of sleeping dogs.

William removed his own coat and scarf, approaching his landlord at the bar. "What have you, George?" he asked as he accepted his mail. He was pleased to see another patent royalty cheque peeking out among the offerings.

The landlord's gentle face split into a huge grin, as he selected from his own stack of envelopes and raised one. "Well, right here I have a letter from my editor telling me my newest story is going to be serialized in some magazine out of Chicago. Imagine that, all the way in Chicago!"

"Quite excellent, George. Perhaps one day you can make your entire living from your writing." He smiled back and dropped his voice further. "Although I admit I still wish you would pay more attention to the details for accuracy's sake….?"

Familiar with the complaint, George paid it no never-mind. "That's why I have you to keep me honest, no? Besides a good story needs, shall we say, creative fancy more than anything else."

William kept his disagreement to himself as he did not wish to argue the point, _again_. Truth be told he was not fond of fiction of any kind, but admitted his landlord had an overly abundant supply of imagination. He finished glancing at his post and asked, "Have you seen Jack or his sister? I lost track of them at Chapel. By the time I collected my belongings and closed my office after tutoring, they were nowhere to be found." His voice showed exasperation. "He was supposed to bring her home."

"As a matter of fact, I have." George Crabtree pointed towards the dining room, where four teen-aged students, clad in school uniforms, were hunched over a table. "They brought her here about twenty minutes ago. Jack took her up to her room. Brother and sister were arguing, again."

William sighed and his brown gaze narrowed. These were exactly the four students missing from Chapel along with Marguerite Brown. He strode over to confront them. "Mr. Gillies, Mr. York, Mr. Auburn and Mr. Brown," he called out, and was gratified that at least three of them jumped a little in nervousness, before scraping back their chairs to stand and greet him in return.

"Mr. Murdoch, good afternoon. We were just commenting on the weather," James Gillies offered. "Won't you join us, sir?" His smooth, dark blonde hair fell over his forehead, and his baby-face smiled as he gestured to an available seat, much to the horror of Misters Auburn and York, William noted.

"No thank you, gentlemen, I am more interested in why you were not at Chapel. An explanation, please if you will?" William waited expectantly, observing their hesitation in answering.

"Marguerite became sick, Mr. Murdoch. The boys helped me bring my sister home, that is all," Jack said. "She was embarrassed and did not want to interrupt the programme. I think she is sleeping now."

"I see. In that case, thank you for your chivalry. Mr. York, Mr. Auburn, do your parents know of your whereabouts? And Mr. Gillies, your house-master?" William inquired, not completely satisfied by the youngsters' alleged altruism.

Joseph Auburn cleared his throat and answered. "It is not even quarter to five, sir. We have until half past six before we are picked up at school, and James has special permission." He looked his teacher in the eye, hoping, it seemed, to escape being dismissed.

William wondered if Joseph was developing an interest in Marguerite, and wanted to linger a while in case he could talk with her. As protective as William was of Marguerite, age 16, and Jack age 18, since he had been _loco parentis_ for them these past three years, he was aware they were growing up and would soon be on their own and he felt ill-prepared for either of them engaging in the business of courting. He harrumphed in his own head: _If I can't figure it out for myself, how can I possibly guide them?_

"Indeed. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me?" William said and crossed to the adjacent staircase to walk upstairs to his rooms on the second floor.

As soon as their teacher was out of earshot, all four students let out long breaths, and two started to snicker in relief. "I want to go back, now," said Francis. "Joseph, come with me, the weather is getting bad and I still have things to pack." No sooner did he put his coat on to leave, when the boys heard raised voices from over their heads—what sounded to them like Marguerite Brown and Mr. Murdoch having a row. It was loud enough that other patrons of the Inn glanced briefly at the ceiling before resuming their own conversations.

George could not help but listen in to the upstairs ruckus, and supposed Mr. Murdoch would be quite embarrassed that anyone overheard the uncharacteristic shouting. He heard Marguerite protesting and Murdoch ordering Marguerite back up to bed, and shortly after the man himself descended the stairs, outwardly calm but George could see his face was still flushed. Without preamble, and in full classroom-authority, he marched up to the four students and asked them, in no uncertain terms, to sit back down. Murdoch was so distracted he did not even see Thomas Brackenreid come in from the cold and greet his son with a huge hug and start the dogs barking excitedly. George could not hear the exchange between teacher and students but suspected it was not going to be pretty.

# # #


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Thomas Brackenreid, jovial and expansive in demeanor as well as waistline, was at the bar, agreeing with George Crabtree that it was too cold outside to leave without a little dram of Scotch to warm him up first. "So these are your new drinking glasses, are they? Quite nice," he said as he took a sip of his drink, admiring the clear sides and smooth surface of the glass.

"Yes. I thought I'd go with the new hygienic movement—everyone can see what they are drinking and that the glassware is clean." George had a satisfied expression. "Going to be part of my advertising for the place. How is your family, if I may?"

"Margaret is already in the Falls with Bobby, so John and I will take the last train tonight. Where are Edna and your daughters?" Brackenreid asked, noticing their obvious absence. He smoothed his ginger facial hair.

"Oh, they went on ahead as well to my Aunt Violet's house where we are gathering this year. Good thing too, with the snow and all. I will be leaving first thing tomorrow with the dogs. I have Mrs. Kitchen taking care of things here for a few days as there is almost no one in residence, but as she needs some looking after herself and doesn't care for animals…" George shrugged.

"You know, I think that was very kind of you to take her in after the house fire…" Brackenreid knew that times were tough for the average working man, let alone an old woman who was suddenly bereft of her home and income.

George got an amused look in his eye. "My aunties would have my hide if I hadn't, especially Violet and Azalea, considering they go back forty years… Mr. Murdoch was pretty persuasive as well and Mrs. Kitchen is very attached to him, so…" George indicated he was simply doing what he thought was expedient, but he saw it did not fool the other man for a second. "Will you be back for the next lodge meeting, Brother Brackenreid?"

 _George's heart was always in the right place,_ Brackenreid thought… "Yes, yes, Brother Crabtree. Particularly since the agenda includes improvements in the building that are my specialty. I am also bidding on the King Edward Hotel – what a fine bit of plumbing work that will be." His gaze lost focus for a moment considering the fee he would get for a whopping 300 bathrooms. "Oh, and I have a new slogan to try." He gestured broadly with his hand. _"All the water in the world comes from a Brackenreid job."_

Crabtree thought about it for a second. "How about this one? _'If water runs through it, it's a job for Brackenreid.'"_

"I like it!" Brackenreid said, slapping the bar. "I think Margaret will like your version better than my last one." Both men laughed, finding the whole business of sloganeering amusing, but as businessmen they knew the value of advertising, Crabtree being a bit of a wordsmith in that regard.

"I'm sure your firm will get the plumbing contract. Your piping work on this old place was stellar, and l will tell them so. My wife especially appreciates the new water closet and bath," Crabtree winked as he said this, producing a knowing chuckle from the other man.

Both men turned to acknowledge William's approach. "Good afternoon and Merry Christmas, Mr. Brackenreid," William said by way of greeting.

"And to you, Murdoch. Bet you are glad for a rest, no doubt?" Brackenreid, as a member of the Sommerbank board of trustees by virtue of his community position, had a fairly good idea of how hard his son's teacher worked and guessed a little time off would be welcome, especially after just being passed over for Headmaster. Privately, Brackenreid thought the man deserved the honor and had spoken up for him during the board meeting. Murdoch was a gentleman by temperament and character, if not by birth, but the rest of the trustees could not be persuaded to appoint an unmarried papist to head that most Anglican of schools, no matter how accomplished the man was. Not unless he was willing to abandon the Pope and convert. And unless he was married he would not be given living quarters at the school. Murdoch was not so inclined; hence the impasse.

William made an effort to engage in polite conversation. "And your holiday? I understand it will be Niagara Falls, or so Master John tells me. Might be cold enough for an ice bridge to form this year." William smiled, liking these two men immensely and appreciative of their kindness, even comradery, especially over the last very difficult couple of years.

Brackenreid talked a bit about his Christmas plans and the three men commiserated some on the weather. George regarded William with a raised an eye-brow and pointed look, presumably to ask about the dust-up regarding the students. William decided not to disclose what he had gleaned from questioning them in front of Mr. Brackenreid, preferring at that moment to maintain discretion, considering his position at the school. The teacher figured he needed time to decide if any official action was necessary or the school administrators needed to be informed. He hoped his disquiet was not advertised on his face.

While they chatted on safer topics, the outside doors whipped open and slammed shut any number of times as people took shelter from the elements or left to go home. One particular gust brought William's attention to a figure brushing off a snow-splattered red wool coat and scarf-wrapped head. Brackenreid and Crabtree shared a kindly smirk at how the teacher perked up. They both knew that the reason the widower had not quickly remarried, despite the substantial benefits of doing so and several interested and eligible females making themselves available, had just entered the Inn. The proprietor called her over: "We didn't think you would make it. Come in, come in and warm up."

Unwinding the scarf revealed a severe bun and tired blue eyes atop a tall, slender form. "Gentlemen," Julia Ogden acknowledged. William unconsciously straightened his back and his suit jacket to greet her and but then offered only a cursory nod. She smiled and glanced shyly his way, pushing wisps of light hair off her face, before asking after Mrs. Kitchen.

Crabtree said: "She's in the back I think, cleaning up. When you come back down I'll have something for you," patting the bar and indicating a beverage of some kind would be waiting.

She smiled in return, trying to dampen her surge of enthusiasm for a convivial moment with a certain teacher. "Thank you, Mr. Crabtree, I'd be delighted. I'll find Mrs. Kitchen and go upstairs… we won't be long." Julia hung up her coat and scarf, put her valise down, then hauled her father's medical bag off the stool she had rested it on to go locate her patient. All three men visually followed her retreat, but only William coloured slightly when his landlord caught him at it.

Crabtree commented, seemingly to no one in particular. "Perhaps Nurse Ogden will be able to visit for a while before going home."

Brackenreid took it up next. "Yes, it is early yet and almost Christmas after all. I'd stay for an extra drink, if you are pouring…"

It was not lost on William that he was being given space to converse with the object of his frustrated interest in a proper and socially acceptable manner, but as he had no idea what he'd say during this opportunity, his impulse was to flee. He had given up being embarrassed by his companions' insight or their elliptical comments regarding Julia Ogden. The whole thing was too complicated for words, or at least any words he could conjure. He made a reflexive grimace and ran his hand along the smooth wooden surface of the bar in apparent contemplation of the attractive graining. "Er…yes. Perhaps I could ask her to look in on Marguerite when she comes back down from seeing to Mrs. Kitchen."

Just beyond the archway dividing the dining room from the common room, the all-but-forgotten students overheard this plan and quickly suppressed alarmed groans at the idea Nurse Ogden was going to visit with Marguerite. "He did not believe us," whispered one of the boys. " _Mr. Murdoch knows!"_ James struggled to assert control over the rapidly panicking boys. "Don't worry!" his bland smile and open countenance promised. "I will take care of it. Have I ever let you down?"

 _To Be Continued…_

 **# # #**

 **Dear Reader: Thank you for choosing to take a look! There is a mystery to come and a couple twists on the menu. I hope you will continue reading the story—and weigh in with your guesses about "Who dunnit" and play along at home. Please "Follow" for notification of new chapters and comments/reviews are encouraged! -rg**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for following! along at home, and the comments! Here is your next installation.**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 3**

Mrs. Kitchen, with her grey hair pinned up in a no-nonsense style, had a girlish grin on her usually care-worn face. "Thank you again for coming to see me, dear," and winked at Julia.

Julia grinned back, happy to see that her patient was at least physically recovering from her most recent ordeal. She worried a bit about the older woman's mind considering her age and other health complaints, but Beatrice Kitchen was a sweet soul and making a house-call on her was no trouble, _not really_. Although that is not the way Mrs. Kitchen saw it, apparently.

"Please give my best to Doctor Ogden, bless his soul. I remember what it was like when you helped me care for Arthur at the end, God rest him. And I _will_ take your advice…that is if you take mine!" Mrs. Kitchen took every chance to extol the virtues of marriage, not able to accept the notion of a woman without a man to care for her. She and her nurse laughed as they descended the stairs to the Inn's common room.

Julia's smile vanished quickly to be replaced with a blush when she saw William Murdoch still loitering near the service bar. Messrs. Crabtree and Brackenreid were nowhere to be found. _Probably trying to be discrete_ , she thought, _dear men that they are._ Julia grumbled to herself. _Between them and Mrs. Kitchen playing at matchmaker…this is impossible!_ William was shifting almost imperceptibly from foot to foot, and looked up at her from under his thick lashes. Julia set her heavy bag at the bottom of the stairs, sighed and headed over to him, not sure how to take advantage of the opportunity.

Mrs. Kitchen observed the interaction. "Mr. Murdoch, Nurse Ogden, why don't I get some tea and biscuits for you. And I'll send some over to your students in the dining room to fortify them for the trek home in this weather. Besides, I never met a young man who wasn't always hungry, have you? It will take me only a few minutes. I'll put your bag over here, dear, out of the way," she said before she waved cheerily and bustled off to the rear of the establishment, leaving William and Julia as alone as two people could be when there were a dozen others milling about.

The awkward silence between them lengthened, and when it built up uncomfortably enough, they both started talking at once. "How was?..." "Did you…?" Eventually giving up on small talk, William asked Julia to go back up to the third floor and check in on Marguerite, to satisfy himself that she was going to be fine since he was still disturbed by her earlier behaviors and appearance. Julia readily agreed, while chastising herself for failing to make use of the opening to interact with William. She found her bag and went to see the girl and was back down in the common room just as the tea and biscuits arrived. William called the students over to retrieve their portions from Mrs. Kitchen's tray, before listening to Julia's report.

"Nurse Ogden, what is your opinion?" he asked, rather formally.

"Well, I believe Miss Brown will be all right. She is definitely sick – although I have no idea exactly what is making her so. It could be the flu, or more likely something she ate or drank. She will not divulge it to me." Julia leaned in. "Perhaps she was at a party? Or took a patented medicine? In any event, her heart rate and respirations are slowed a bit and she has stopped vomiting. By tomorrow she should be on the mend." Julia was about to add details, when she noticed Jack Brown balancing his plate on top of his tea mug and trying to move off without spilling any of it. "Mr. Brown, your sister insists that she wants to talk with you and Mr. Murdoch and that it is very important. But she is resting now, so perhaps later tonight or tomorrow when she is feeling better?"

He answered with a "Yes, Ma'am," before joining his school mates, who were wolfing down their treat.

William offered his thanks, and temporized for a moment on whether or not he wanted to ask her advice about dealing with Marguerite and the other students. He decided that speaking with his wards at a later time was more appropriate.

Mrs. Kitchen, who had been watching all this quite closely, announced she was going to go heat up some soup and disappeared again.

William and Julia both involuntarily cringed and then shared a conspiratorial grin when they noticed their similar reactions. "I do hope it is soup that Mrs. Crabtree made…" Julia whispered.

"Er…quite. Mrs. Kitchen, while a lovely woman, is rather inept when it comes to food. When I lived as her boarder it was certainly easier to maintain my waistline…" William said back, and then regretted the admission as being unkind as well as inappropriate. "That is not to say…"

"It's all right. I recall her cooking as well. It's really not her fault, but I think her sense of taste and smell are going... er, even more. While Mr. Crabtree is away, you will look after her, won't you? I worry about her condition…." Julia smiled nervously again, and looked at him, lowering her voice. "It is agreeable to see you. I was hoping to wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you as well." He stalled, tongue-tied once again. _How_ _does_ _one ask a widow, no matter how many years one has known the lady, if she is open to a social engagement only five months since her husband's death?_ he thought.

At that moment Jack and his friends intruded, asking permission to go upstairs to visit in the room Jack was going to be sleeping in, and see the new plumbing that had just been installed. As William had been involved in the process of designing the system for the Inn with Brackenreid, making a few improvements in fact, he acknowledged to himself he was vulnerable to the sin of pride. He gave in to the request, with the admonishment to be brief as the weather was not stable and they needed to be back at school on time.

Permission granted with a suggestion from their teacher to consider the hydrodynamics associated with water flow through piping, the boys bounded up the stairs, glad to be free of adult scrutiny. It was also a relief to William not to be observed by his pupils, as these lads were among the brightest in the school. He held his reputation as sacrosanct; he was not about to become the subject of school gossip, certainly not if he could help it.

Returning to his attention to Julia, William noticed the weary lines in her face, and immediately thought better of importuning her to socialize, as that would likely add to her stress and not alleviate it. His thoughts turned to the small gift he prepared for her, nestled in coloured paper up in his room. It was a wooden box he made to hold some of her art supplies, and he almost excused himself to retrieve it, then thought the better of that impulse too and closed it down. _Ridiculous!_ he complained to himself. Instead he quietly asked, "How are you holding up?"

She moved forward to answer, "Well…" but she was interrupted by Crabtree swinging behind the bar to pull another couple of pints for his dwindling number of patrons. The Brackenreids also came over to bid adieu. By the time everyone said their goodbyes, the thread of conversation between Julia and William collapsed again.

"Will you stay for soup?" was all William could think to say, feeling inane to ask. He was surprised she agreed, considering they did not know the meal's origins. "Er...good, very good. Well... good." He was embarrassed at his babbling, stopped himself and cleared his throat. "Let me go see where my students are." He ushered her to a table in the dining room before rounding to the stairs and ascending.

Julia pursed her lips briefly and checked her watch. Her father's housekeeper, Mrs. Hastings, was spending the holiday with them this year and would be at the house to watch over things; by this time the housekeeper was much of an expert as anyone in managing her father's illness, so would be able to cope if Julia took a little extra time getting home. She thought that perhaps once the boarding students and patrons cleared off she could figure out how to spend a few moments in pleasant, distracting conversation with a stimulating companion before going back to her daily round of boring work and vexation. It might make up for not getting to her one weekly pleasure—her sketching class tonight, cancelled now due to the storm.

# # #


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Three of the students were plodding down the stairs. "Oy! Lads!" George Crabtree caught their attention with a shout and a wry grin. "If you are willing, I could use a hand here." The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

William was behind them on the staircase. He checked his time piece and calculated how long it would take for them to get back to school. He "a-hemmed" softly, and the students immediately replaced their sullen faces with more agreeable expressions and offered to help, imagining Mr. Murdoch lecturing on the equal value of all work and belief that physical activity enhanced mental acuity.

The weather had brought in a good deal of snow that was melting by the door and needed mopping, the fire box needed filling, coal needed bringing up and the walkways front and back needed shoveling, so there was a certain amount of wrangling over the tasks. William knew better than to interfere and left them to it. He spied the fourth young man finally coming to the common room from the back of the building. "Mr. Gillies. Please join your fellows with a spot of work before you head back. I assume you found the water closet to your liking?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Murdoch. Am I to suppose Newton's 2nd law and Bernoulli's equations were employed to calculate the piping and water flow? How fascinating! Will you be bringing this into next term's lessons as a practical application of classroom teaching?" James held his face in an eager manner, knowing full-well he guessed correctly and that Mr. Murdoch would approve.

William could not prevent himself letting a small amount of surprise show. "Yes, Mr. Gillies. I see you are anticipating next term's reading, per usual. I expect then you will form the experimental team from among your classmates. _And_ you will show your work." He saw the young man's face alter ever so subtly. _Good,_ he thought. _Staying ahead of this one is a challenge._ "Off with you now."

Francis had just finished the floor when the front door burst open again with force, spewing snow and six people into the Inn, among them the Brackenreids. Mr. Brackenreid struggled with his weight to close the door back up with a thud and throw the bolt against the wind's pressure.

"Blood Hell! You can't see across the street!" He actually sounded more impressed than upset despite his overcoat and business suit being soaked and his hat fairly ruined by the combination of wet and wind. "Crabtree! These folks were on the trolley that broke down." He gestured to four travelers shivering in a clump, trying desperately to get warmer. "John and I could not even make it as far as my office before it just blew up all white." He helped his son get his things off and over to the fire.

"Do you want to call Margaret, let her know you are not going to make it?" asked Crabtree. As he said that there was a flash of light penetrating through the curtains followed by what sounded like thunder. Every eye was drawn to the view out of the front windows, and several persons looked at each other in disbelief. The dogs started whimpering, hackles raised. "What the Devil?"…."Who ever heard of thunder snow?"

"How remarkable." Julia had come forward and was staring outside in wonder, a look of enraptured curiosity on her face. She stood next to William, whose own countenance matched hers. "It is beautiful… and terrifying…" she gasped.

"Yes." William, also captivated, started to comment. "It is rare, indeed. It is usually caused by a strong upward flow of air, meeting…"

Brackenreid's voice boomed. "Never mind that! I think we are going to be stuck here for the duration until that white stuff outside clears up. I'll take that phone call, George, if you don't mind." Brackenreid dropped the formalities and dumped his coat on a chair, slapping his hands together to warm them. In a lower voice he said to Crabtree and Murdoch: "Gentlemen, it is bad, so we need to be prepared. Someone's going to freeze to death out there, or get lost in the snow."

William reluctantly broke his reverie with Julia and to resume his duty. "Sir, when you are finished with your call, I will put one through to the school. I don't want the parents to be needlessly worried."

Mrs. Kitchen arrived with a tray of steaming bowls, and looked a little shocked at the group of bedraggled people, including newcomers, three men and a young lady, sorting themselves out in the common room. "What was that noise all about?" she asked, a worried look on her face. "Georgie…Er…Mr. Crabtree, shall I go get some more soup?"

Crabtree took the tray from her and set it on the bar, and carried the remaining earthenware bowls over to Johnny Brackenreid and the storm refugees, with his compliments. He asked Mrs. Kitchen to fetch another tray's worth for the rest of them and find some bread and butter or jam too, relieved that it was Edna's barley soup he smelled, and was being served.

William finished his call and offered the telephone to Julia. The last gentleman from the trolley was putting his call through as Mrs. Kitchen came back with more food. "Perhaps Marguerite would like some soup?" William asked as he counted the bowls.

Brackenreid called his son over. "John, since you are done with yours, will you take this up to the third floor for Miss Marguerite? She's in room…?"

"Last one on the right as you go up the front stair case," offered Crabtree.

"No! Let the lad go back to the fire." Mrs. Kitchen grabbed for the tray and made a strong protest that she was perfectly able, but her employer overruled her.

"Nonsense, let the lad do it. I'm sure you would appreciate the break from having to go up and down the stairs yet again." George gave the tray to John. "There you go. And bread and jam for you when you get back. Mrs. Kitchen, will you get that for us? And you might as well do a small inventory of what is on hand."

While John and Mrs. Kitchen bustled off on their tasks, William, Julia, Brackenreid and Crabtree took their soup and a jug of cider to one of the dining tables close to the stove (and away from the students) and began to eat, talking privately about how to manage for the evening. They knew each other well enough to be comfortable with this arrangement; the assumption being that the four of them would figure something out together.

They were considering the number of beds and the reliability of electric service when Johnny Brackenreid appeared at his father's shoulder and waited. When there was not an immediate break in the adults' conversation, he tugged on his father's sleeve, and whispered something to his ear. Brackenreid's face reformed into a deep frown. "Say that again?" he asked his son.

Johnny swallowed hard, and tried to straighten up and speak plainly with good eye contact. He could not keep distress from rising in his voice. "Sir. Something's wrong with Miss Marguerite. She won't wake up."

William took the stairs two at a time, his heart clenched, followed closely by the other three. He flicked the lights on as he entered her room and stood at the side of the bed, knowing without being told Marguerite was dead. " _No._ " he breathed. Julia came up beside him, found a pulse point then and spent a long minute fruitlessly trying to find a heartbeat or respirations. There were none. Looking at the crucifix above Marguerite's bed, William's face went rigid and his eyes wide. He made the sign of the cross and started to pray.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dear Readers: Thank you so much for the reviews/commentary/guesses. Keep those cards and letters coming (metaphorically speaking)**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 5**

William stroked Marguerite's forehead gently and fell silent. Liturgy for the dead unrolled in his memory; Last Rites echoed. The sound of wind rattling the windows intensified in the quiet, and mimicked the uneven beating of his heart. Inhaling sharply to regain his composure, he then let the breath go. _That is the past._ His mind was running through all the permutations and explanations to account for her death and came up empty. _This makes no sense at all!_ He was stymied and struggled to absorb the reality of another loss, peering at Marguerite's red face and disturbed aspect in death.

"Sweet Mother of God...What do you think happened?" asked Crabtree. He made a careful visual inspection of the neat room, simple iron bedstead, chest of drawers and wardrobe, and to his eye nothing was out of place in the modest surroundings.

"She is still so … _warm_ ," William said softly to the room, in an apparent _non sequitur._ Tears pushed themselves forward and were caught behind his lashes. Normally in complete control— this time he made no move to hide them.

Brackenreid also surveyed the scene, still a bit uncomfortable after witnessing Murdoch's religious ritual. However, death _was_ a fact of existence with which he was familiar; he had seen plenty of corpses in his military past. "Something is not right here." He turned to Julia. "You say she was fine, then what caused this?" Brackenreid was shocked by how young the girl looked, how small for her 16 years, with her freckled face and chestnut hair splayed on the pillow. He looked over to the clearly-shattered Murdoch.

They all flinched a bit as the lights abruptly flickered.

Julia was also inured to the pain and suffering of sickness, but still she trembled a little. "She was unwell but her vital signs were stable when I was up here. There was no sign of…of _this_!" All four looked at each other and then by unspoken consensus, three of them turned to Murdoch. This young life had been in his care and now she was gone.

William took a moment before speaking, needing more effort to master his dismay. His voice was ragged. "We don't have all the facts… but I agree something is amiss. We need to contact the authorities because it is an unwitnessed and unexplained death of an otherwise healthy young person…for whom I am responsible. We also," he gestured to include the four of them, "should not touch anything, just to be safe. Mr. Brackenreid, is your watch accurate? If you will, please note the time so we can record when we found… _her_. We need to use just one timepiece for reference." The older man gave him the hour and minutes, which William wrote down in a small notebook he retrieved from his jacket. "George, will you call the local station house and tell them what we have found?"

They discussed more about what needed doing until the police arrived, before William paused and took another deep breath. "I must to go tell her brother, first."

# # #

George preceded William downstairs to the Inn's common room and went to discretely ring the station house, while William sought out Jack to perform his grim duty in the relative privacy of their rooms. Behind them, Brackenreid and Julia took a while to look again at Marguerite's quiet form, then closed and locked her door before descending.

From the stairs, Julia observed Jack's classmates nervously talking in the dining room, then looking at each other in alarm at the sudden shouting going on above them. They could clearly hear Jack's raised voice repeating, 'No, no, no! It can't be,' accompanied by sounds of a struggle and a door slamming. The boys whispered agitatedly. Julia could not hear the exact words but she understood that the students were upset and wary. She saw the occupants of the common room fall silent and appear worried as well.

Brackenreid turned around and went back upstairs after hearing the commotion Jack was making. Together, he and Williamtook the distraught young man slowly to the top floor to view his sister and then down to his room on the second floor with Brackenreid remaining to hover nearby. By the time William regained the ground floor his face was grim. He gave the boys an abbreviated version of events and ordered them to stay in the dining room, in full view of each other, and wait. All three protested at first, at least until the thunder cracked again and the lights dimmed a second or two. Joseph sat hard in his chair with a desperate look on his face. William's admonishment was received in silence: "I will contact your parents and the school—it is not wise for you to be anywhere but here for now."

Julia joined William over by the telephone to wait for Crabtree to finish his call. She reached for William's arm to comfort him, but immediately reversed the impulse. Offering physical sympathy might embarrass him. Instead she said, "William, I am so sorry for your loss, and for Jack's. How is he?"

William's demeanor was closed. "He is taking it very hard, as you might imagine. He will be back down when he gets himself under control again," he said.

"Do you think her…death…had anything to do with something she ate or drank?" Julia wondered.

He started to answer: "I think that…."

He stopped when Crabtree's voice rose sharply. "No! Don't hang up. I have more to tell you…." After a long bout of staring at the device, and pressing the switchhook repeatedly, he put the earpiece in its place and the telephone down. "Well, that was no help. It took a long time to be connected through to the exchange and the line was terribly bad, all crackly." He ran his hand over his face in frustration.

"What is the problem?" Julia asked.

Crabtree noticed Brackenreid come down with Jack, and waited until the older man drew closer so the four of them could talk. Dropping his voice, he told them, "No one will be making any calls as the line is dead, and I am not sure that the constabulary will be checking in with us any time soon. Where we are here on George & Gerard is only a few blocks away from the Station House on Wilton, but in this weather, we might as well be on the other side of the moon… assuming of course that the moon has snow…" Crabtree motioned to the stranded people in the common room. "What do we tell them?" He looked at Brackenreid.

Brackenreid shook his head. " _Bloody Hell!"_ he muttered."Nothing. We tell them nothing. George, aside from them, us, the students and Mrs. Kitchen, is there anyone else at the Inn?" Brackenreid asked.

Crabtree answered quickly. "No one else is here. My other regular boarders are either away for the holiday or, I am assuming, caught at work unable to leave, or even holed up somewhere due to the storm, such as our fine fellows from the trolley. I have no travelers expected in until this upcoming Monday."

"And where is Mrs. Kitchen? Does she know?" William asked. "I should tell her…" He was aware Mrs. Kitchen took a strong interest in Marguerite and her brother, and he thought she would bear the news rather hard.

Crabtree interrupted. "I will do that, since I have to go talk to her anyway about how we are going to take care of all of you tonight. I think perhaps you are needed elsewhere, er…William." By this time it was obvious the students in the dining room were arguing with each other, and getting louder about it by the minute. Crabtree muttered. "This is as sorry as a bad joke about a plumber, a teacher and a nurse walking into a pub…" He caught himself. "Sorry, William… It's a shame, really about Marguerite. I am just upset that's all, I tend to forget myself." He imagined what he would feel like if one of his daughters suddenly passed…He sighed, and indicated the noise coming from the dining room. "We should take care of business."

William straightened up, and cleared his throat. He looked over and saw that Jack had rejoined his friends. "Yes. I think we should tend to these few things and then we need to execute the plans we had been making to prepare for a long night, maybe more if the weather does not lift." The lights dimmed suddenly and took a few longer moments to come back up. "We could be confined here a few days. George, I am beginning to regret wiring this place for electricity for you. Oil lamps or gas lights would be more reliable in times like these?" Although it sounded like a weak attempt at distraction, his companions saw no sign he was attempting humor, let alone irony. They agreed to meet in ten minutes to gather the necessary supplies, starting with lamps and candles, then divvy up required chores.

William approached the students, who pushed away from their knot of conversation and sat in their separate chairs as he neared. All four were red-faced and close-mouthed; Jack and Joseph had obviously been either crying or holding back tears, and were making an effort not to show that, at least not in front of their teacher. William understood the imperative: to be thought of as a man, one did not show that sort of emotion, and these boys were at a time in their lives when they felt desperate to become men. William brought himself under the iron discipline necessary for him as an adult role model, before he spoke. If the Jesuits taught him anything, it was self-control.

"Gentlemen. Is there anything you have to tell me?" he asked, figuring an open ended question followed by silence would produce the most information. Four pairs of eyes sought the table top accompanied by four sets of anxious gestures, but no answers.

"Gentleman!" William prompted again. "I want an explanation—the truth this time." He pinned each of them with a dark stare as they looked up. "Miss Brown appeared to be intoxicated earlier. Out with it!" He did not need to raise his voice, but instead called upon his many years as a teacher of teen-aged boys to quietly impress upon them the gravity of their situation. Each of them was aware of Mr. Murdoch's uncanny reputation for getting to the bottom of things.

Francis York broke first. "Grain alcohol," he sputtered, eyes wide and roving towards his classmates. "We, ah, made it in our rooms and shared it out, a little holiday exuberance…er, that is all."

James Gillies, his roommate jumped in. "Yes! We made a retort and experimented with it. Turned out very well, actually, sir. You are always encouraging us to extend our knowledge, are you not?"

"We told her to be careful, but Marguerite just didn't listen," Joseph added hastily, his voice breaking and his gaze flicking left and right. "Is that what killed her, Mr. Murdoch? None of us got sick, or…" He was unable to continue, guilt and fear rendering his mouth too dry for words.

"Mr. Murdoch, you don't think _we_ had anything to do with poor Marguerite's passing, do you? That would be absurd, wouldn't it?" James asked his teacher, but his eyes were on Jack. For his part, Jack sat with his fists in a ball, not looking at anyone.

William's mind travelled over the many interactions he had had with Marguerite through the years: her deep grief for her parents fading by dint of prayer and faith; her quick, logical mind outdistancing her peers in the class room; her bright laugh. He struggled to believe that Marguerite could have lost her life so… _stupidly._ He could only imagine what Jack was feeling.

The snow outside was abruptly illuminated, followed by an immediate clap of thunder and a crack of something _else_. The electric lighting took that opportunity to fail, plunging the Inn into the shadows thrown by the hearth and the few candles that had already been brought out and lit. The thunder seemed to continue to roll until William realized that the front door of the Inn was receiving a pounding and the dogs started barking again.

"Excuse me. This is not over, gentleman. _Have a caution._ " He looked at the three who met his gaze. "Please see to your friend," he said, indicating Jack. "And I expect you four to remain right here."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

William met Brackenreid at the door, found the latch and swung it open thereby admitting two white-encrusted figures, before both men shoved the door closed again against the accumulated snow and set the bolt back in place. The first man, slightly built, and a second, tall and broad, emerged from their scarves and the ice on their clothing and proved to be constables. Amidst their exclamations regarding the end of Creation, the officers were offered a space by the hearth to warm up with some tea; both ideas were gratefully accepted.

Brackenreid went to inform the proprietor while William and Julia waited politely for the officers to get settled enough to begin their duty. Oddly, the two constables showed minimal interest in anything other than the fire and the dogs who had quieted down, and were merely busy competing with the animals for hearth-space. William and Julia were about to roust them to their job when Mrs. Kitchen reappeared with more candles, followed by Crabtree and Brackenreid with a large box of oil lamps. William thought Mrs. Kitchen looked grim but composed.

"Henry! My goodness! The Station House sent you, did they?" George Crabtree clapped the younger man on the back. "Well, I'm glad. Gentleman, _and lady_ , this is Constable Henry Higgins and a fine officer he is who works this area of town. Come over here by the bar so we can talk, and bring your large friend there. Mrs. Kitchen, can you set those out and light a few so we can see what we are doing?" He gestured vaguely to the box, before turning to the unfamiliar newcomer and offering his hand in greeting. "George Crabtree's the name, I own this place. And you are…?"

Higgins spoke up. "This is Constable Jackson. Fresh from his last posting at Station House No 2. "Slugger" here, was assigned to me by my Inspector to get oriented to our beat." He smiled and then rolled his eyes. "No one could orient to anything out there right now. But what are you on about? No one sent us. We got caught in that fearsome storm out there and we are seeking shelter. It's colder than a witches' … er, sorry ma'am." He stopped when he remembered Julia standing with the men.

Brackenreid stepped closer and said softly. "Constables. You mean you just happened by? There is no doctor, no coroner, no detective that is coming along behind you?" His eyes bore into the two officers, making them uncomfortable.

"Er... no sir. Why? Mr. Crabtree. What is going on?" Higgins gaze shifted from man to man, but fixed mostly on the innkeeper since they had a passing acquaintance.

Crabtree lowered his voice even further. "Henry, one of my residents, a young lady barely sixteen, has passed away. And whilst we do not necessarily think it is a police matter, _hope it is not_ , the death is suspicious to us. We thought the authorities should be called."

When the constables did not respond, just stood there gaping, Brackenreid prodded. "That's _you,_ me' ol mucker. You two are the 'authorities' now. So what happens next?"

Jackson was about to say something when Higgins stopped him. "One moment, please, while I confer with my colleague."

Higgins dragged Jackson to a corner where they could not be easily overheard. "Jackson, what do you say? Are you up for a little investigation?" When the other man appeared skeptical, Higgins sweetened the offer. "We will get to stay in here where it is nice and warm, drink tea, or even get a beer and a meal..." He looked back at the people by the bar, counted the four students, a younger boy and the quartet of people in the common room. He paid special attention to the comely girl sitting with a man he assumed was her father.

"And if you take the initiative and do well, it won't hurt your chances for promotion, will it Higgins?" surmised Jackson.

"No, no it won't. How many times did you get to do the whole job of work anyway, and then the detective took credit for it at Station House 2? Happened to me once too often, I'll tell you. Besides, this should be a piece of cake. All we have to do is ask questions and take notes. For all we know the girl died from natural causes or perhaps, God forbid, suicided….Just taking statements from everyone will occupy several _warm_ hours, what do you say, Slugger? We can even put in for extra pay!" Higgins smiled his most winning grin.

"So what do we do first?" asked Jackson.

Higgins strode back towards the service bar and planted himself roughly in the center of the occupied space and announced, loudly. "I am Constable Higgins and this is Constable Jackson from the Toronto Constabulary. We are here to investigate a police matter and are going to talk to each of you in turn. Nobody leave!" All eyes turned in his direction, as far as he could tell, looking either annoyed or staring blankly back at him.

"Oy! Copper! Where would we go?" said one of the men sitting by the hearth. That set another gentleman to guffawing and some of the rest of the people to laughing nervously.

Jackson grimaced and whispered to Higgins: "Not a good start."


	7. Chapter 7

**Dear Reader: It might get worse before it gets better….**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 7**

Despite an awkward beginning, the constables managed to organize themselves enough to decide which one was going to view the body and which one was going to start talking to the Inn's current inhabitants. First up was speaking with Jack and his cohorts. Mr. Murdoch, mindful of his responsibilities, asked permission to approach his students to have a word to explain what their duty would be, later agreeing to show one of the constables to Marguerite's room.

Watching his retreating back, James Gillies was glad Mr. Murdoch had been concentrating on comforting Jack and giving advice, therefore limiting his attention to the rest of them. Francis started whispering even before their teacher was out of earshot. "I said, I don't like this. I am sorry about your sister, but that is not our fault, certainly not _my_ fault…."

"Shut it, old man! We have our futures ahead of us—we just have to keep our heads. We will all be in University next year so there is no need for any of this…" James reached over and squeezed Francis's arm hard, producing a yelp from the other lad. "Mr. Murdoch gave us good advice. Only answer the questions asked." Across the table from him, he saw Joseph's eyes grow wide.

"The two Coppers are coming over right now," Joseph hissed.

# # #

After disposing with the students, the officers separated. While Higgins was viewing the body and starting preliminaries with the two witnesses upstairs, Constable Jackson began by asking Mrs. Kitchen and then the proprietor some questions. Crabtree filled in what he knew about the sequence of events, and the comings and goings of his guests and other patrons. After having her say, Jackson allowed Mrs. Kitchen to go about her duties. Especially since that was going to involve a nice hot supper for him and Higgins, _for free_.

"To tell you the truth, Constable, we had quite a number of people in and out this afternoon before the storm hit. Can't say as I knew them all by name, and I was back and forth tending to the place. Other than Mr. Murdoch, Nurse Ogden and the students though, I did not notice anyone out of place, particularly on the staircase." He gestured with his hand over his head. "Poor Miss Brown and her brother too. Such a loss."

Brackenreid came over to join them, and Jackson straightened up. "Alderman Brackenreid! I wanted to mention I voted for you, especially since you were one of us back in the day," he said, shaking the other man's hand briskly. Then in a softer voice: "Sorry you didn't win the last time, sir."

Brackenreid smiled. "No troubles, er.., Jackson. My brief turn as a constable did not stand up to the opportunity to join my father in law's business." He winked. "I decided to follow the money, so to speak. Would not have been Alderman if I'd gone the other route, you know?"

Jackson smiled wryly in agreement, then got his pencil and notebook out again. "I understand your son found the deceased. I must speak with him, with your permission, of course. And then a few questions for you sir? Routine, I am sure."

# # #`

Constable Higgins climbed the stairs with a light to stand by Marguerite's bedside as William and Julia explained the discovery of her body, with William giving the time that he previously recorded. Higgins wrote it all down, obtained more details about the time of events, and even sketched the room, asking for the lamps to be moved around for a better view. "Mr. Murdoch, I understand you teach at that Sommerbank Academy and were her guardian, as well as guardian for her brother. How did that come to be? A bit unusual isn't it for a bachelor to take young persons under their wing?"

William winced. His marriage to Liza had opened him up to so much joy; her dying, now nearly 18 months ago, to so much pain. He paused to gaze at his young ward again, his heart breaking, and chastised his naiveté: _I was wrong when I believed I'd never feel that kind of heart ache again._ He straightened, joining his hands behind his back and found a calm voice with which to answer. "Marguerite and Jack's parents and I were acquainted as fellow parishioners at St. Paul's. When the Brown's died in an accident, per their Last Will and Testament, our parish priest, Father Clemens, was tasked with taking legal steps to look after them. The arrangement for me to become their guardian made sense since both youngsters go to the school where I teach, and Mr. Brown senior wanted to make sure their Catholic upbringing remained strong. They trusted me with that…" his voice broke subtly. "I was married at the time and living at the school, so it suited all parties. Unfortunately, my wife…passed away some time ago, and I have carried on…." William stopped, believing no more needed saying.

"I see… Why do you think this is a matter for the authorities?" Higgins asked. "Other than she is, er…was, so young?"

Julia answered. "Constable, she was ill tonight perhaps, but in otherwise perfect health. If I did not know better, I'd say she had a heart attack, but that would be unusual in someone her age with no history," Julia explained. "And I suppose there are other possible reasons for her appearance…poisoning for instance."

"Poisoning? Perhaps you can tell me how you know this? I would not think a lady should be involved in this business of death. And can you tell me your full name, for my notes?" Higgins asked.

"I am a nurse and have been working with my husband and father, Dr. Lionel Ogden for several years, taking care of his patients…ever since leaving medical school. So I am very familiar with illness and death. I tended to Marguerite this evening, in fact, at Mr. Murdoch's request." Julia looked him directly in the eye without wavering, hoping the questions would not be any more probing.

"And how came you to be called to tend to her if she was in perfect health, as you say?" Higgins asked.

"I asked her to look in on Miss Brown, Constable. Nurse Ogden was already here visiting one of her other patients. I was concerned about her welfare. Upon further investigation I found out Miss Brown had consumed some alcohol," William offered. "I wonder now if that was all it was…." He bit off any further disclosure.

Higgins noticed the hesitation but decided to come back to that at a later time. Instead he turned to Julia. "So you are Nurse Ogden. May I have your Christian name?" Higgins' pencil was poised over his notebook in the lamp-light.

Julia hesitated, looked at William and then sighed. "Actually, while I am usually known as Nurse Ogden, my legal name is Mrs. Julia Walters. Dr. Joseph Walters was my husband."

"The doctor that was shot and killed in a robbery some months back?...Say, weren't you…?" Higgins' eyes narrowed.

William interrupted. "Yes, Nurse Ogden was initially questioned in his death, but has been cleared of all suspicion and the real killer is being pursued even now. Nurse Ogden's reputation is impeccable, Constable. She tended to Mr. Crabtree's and Mr. Brackenreid's wives in child birth, and to my wife before she…died." William swallowed. "She kindly offered to check in on Miss Brown."

"Who was awake and alert-not in any danger. When I left her, she was going to sleep," Julia told him. "I went to the ground floor after that. We all assumed she was ensconced in her bed." Julia redirected Constable Higgins back to his physical investigation. "Aren't you going to examine her body, Constable? We have not touched her or moved her in any way."

Higgins suppressed a shudder, or at least he hoped that no one noticed it in the dim light. He was better at the interviews and observing suspects, and not particularly comfortable handling the dead—his detective and the coroner usually did that honor. He already _observed_ that these two came to each other's defense.

"No. Not at the moment. I am going to examine her room more closely later, as well. Tell me, was she despondent? Had a recent disappointment? A young infatuation gone wrong? Could she have taken her own life?" Higgins inquired.

"Absolutely not! To any of that." William interjected with some heat. "Miss Brown is, _was,_ Roman Catholic, sir, and devout. Besides, she was not depressed, had come to terms with the death of her parents, and was looking forward to attending college in the future. Suicide is out of the question!"

Higgins thought about it for a second, not exactly sure what to make of the Catholic revelation. "So… then am I to assume, Mrs. Miles, er… Nurse Ogden, you were the last person to see her alive?" Higgins observed small signs of alarm on the faces of both his companions. _Interesting,_ he thought.

"Well," said a voice from the hallway belonging to Mrs. Kitchen. "The last person to see her alive would have been whoever killed her, don't you think, young man?" She stood with her hand on her hips, looking quizzically at Higgins. "Come away out of that sad place. I've come to tell you, your supper is ready. Made it fresh myself!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Dear Reader: It might get worse before it gets better….**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 7**

Despite an awkward beginning, the constables managed to organize themselves enough to decide which one was going to view the body and which one was going to start talking to the Inn's current inhabitants. First up was speaking with Jack and his cohorts. Mr. Murdoch, mindful of his responsibilities, asked permission to approach his students to have a word to explain what their duty would be, later agreeing to show one of the constables to Marguerite's room.

Watching his retreating back, James Gillies was glad Mr. Murdoch had been concentrating on comforting Jack and giving advice, therefore limiting his attention to the rest of them. Francis started whispering even before their teacher was out of earshot. "I said, I don't like this. I am sorry about your sister, but that is not our fault, certainly not _my_ fault…."

"Shut it, old man! We have our futures ahead of us—we just have to keep our heads. We will all be in University next year so there is no need for any of this…" James reached over and squeezed Francis's arm hard, producing a yelp from the other lad. "Mr. Murdoch gave us good advice. Only answer the questions asked." Across the table from him, he saw Joseph's eyes grow wide.

"The two Coppers are coming over right now," Joseph hissed.

# # #

After disposing with the students, the officers separated. While Higgins was viewing the body and starting preliminaries with the two witnesses upstairs, Constable Jackson began by asking Mrs. Kitchen and then the proprietor some questions. Crabtree filled in what he knew about the sequence of events, and the comings and goings of his guests and other patrons. After having her say, Jackson allowed Mrs. Kitchen to go about her duties. Especially since that was going to involve a nice hot supper for him and Higgins, _for free_.

"To tell you the truth, Constable, we had quite a number of people in and out this afternoon before the storm hit. Can't say as I knew them all by name, and I was back and forth tending to the place. Other than Mr. Murdoch, Nurse Ogden and the students though, I did not notice anyone out of place, particularly on the staircase." He gestured with his hand over his head. "Poor Miss Brown and her brother too. Such a loss."

Brackenreid came over to join them, and Jackson straightened up. "Alderman Brackenreid! I wanted to mention I voted for you, especially since you were one of us back in the day," he said, shaking the other man's hand briskly. Then in a softer voice: "Sorry you didn't win the last time, sir."

Brackenreid smiled. "No troubles, er.., Jackson. My brief turn as a constable did not stand up to the opportunity to join my father in law's business." He winked. "I decided to follow the money, so to speak. Would not have been Alderman if I'd gone the other route, you know?"

Jackson smiled wryly in agreement, then got his pencil and notebook out again. "I understand your son found the deceased. I must speak with him, with your permission, of course. And then a few questions for you sir? Routine, I am sure."

# # #`

Constable Higgins climbed the stairs with a light to stand by Marguerite's bedside as William and Julia explained the discovery of her body, with William giving the time that he previously recorded. Higgins wrote it all down, obtained more details about the time of events, and even sketched the room, asking for the lamps to be moved around for a better view. "Mr. Murdoch, I understand you teach at that Sommerbank Academy and were her guardian, as well as guardian for her brother. How did that come to be? A bit unusual isn't it for a bachelor to take young persons under their wing?"

William winced. His marriage to Liza had opened him up to so much joy; her dying, now nearly 18 months ago, to so much pain. He paused to gaze at his young ward again, his heart breaking, and chastised his naiveté: _I was wrong when I believed I'd never feel that kind of heart ache again._ He straightened, joining his hands behind his back and found a calm voice with which to answer. "Marguerite and Jack's parents and I were acquainted as fellow parishioners at St. Paul's. When the Brown's died in an accident, per their Last Will and Testament, our parish priest, Father Clemens, was tasked with taking legal steps to look after them. The arrangement for me to become their guardian made sense since both youngsters go to the school where I teach, and Mr. Brown senior wanted to make sure their Catholic upbringing remained strong. They trusted me with that…" his voice broke subtly. "I was married at the time and living at the school, so it suited all parties. Unfortunately, my wife…passed away some time ago, and I have carried on…." William stopped, believing no more needed saying.

"I see… Why do you think this is a matter for the authorities?" Higgins asked. "Other than she is, er…was, so young?"

Julia answered. "Constable, she was ill tonight perhaps, but in otherwise perfect health. If I did not know better, I'd say she had a heart attack, but that would be unusual in someone her age with no history," Julia explained. "And I suppose there are other possible reasons for her appearance…poisoning for instance."

"Poisoning? Perhaps you can tell me how you know this? I would not think a lady should be involved in this business of death. And can you tell me your full name, for my notes?" Higgins asked.

"I am a nurse and have been working with my husband and father, Dr. Lionel Ogden for several years, taking care of his patients…ever since leaving medical school. So I am very familiar with illness and death. I tended to Marguerite this evening, in fact, at Mr. Murdoch's request." Julia looked him directly in the eye without wavering, hoping the questions would not be any more probing.

"And how came you to be called to tend to her if she was in perfect health, as you say?" Higgins asked.

"I asked her to look in on Miss Brown, Constable. Nurse Ogden was already here visiting one of her other patients. I was concerned about her welfare. Upon further investigation I found out Miss Brown had consumed some alcohol," William offered. "I wonder now if that was all it was…." He bit off any further disclosure.

Higgins noticed the hesitation but decided to come back to that at a later time. Instead he turned to Julia. "So you are Nurse Ogden. May I have your Christian name?" Higgins' pencil was poised over his notebook in the lamp-light.

Julia hesitated, looked at William and then sighed. "Actually, while I am usually known as Nurse Ogden, my legal name is Mrs. Julia Walters. Dr. Joseph Walters was my husband."

"The doctor that was shot and killed some months back?...Say, weren't you…?" Higgins' eyes narrowed.

William interrupted. "Yes, Nurse Ogden was initially questioned in his death, but has been cleared of all suspicion and the real killer is being pursued even now. Nurse Ogden's reputation is impeccable, Constable. She tended to Mr. Crabtree's and Mr. Brackenreid's wives in child birth, and to my wife before she…died." William swallowed. "She kindly offered to check in on Miss Brown."

"Who was awake and alert-not in any danger. When I left her, she was going to sleep," Julia told him. "I went to the ground floor after that. We all assumed she was ensconced in her bed." Julia redirected Constable Higgins back to his physical investigation. "Aren't you going to examine her body, Constable? We have not touched her or moved her in any way."

Higgins suppressed a shudder, or at least he hoped that no one noticed it in the dim light. He was better at the interviews and observing suspects, and not particularly comfortable handling the dead—his detective and the coroner usually did that honor. He already _observed_ that these two came to each other's defense.

"No. Not at the moment. I am going to examine her room more closely later, as well. Tell me, was she despondent? Had a recent disappointment? A young infatuation gone wrong? Could she have taken her own life?" Higgins inquired.

"Absolutely not! To any of that." William interjected with some heat. "Miss Brown is, _was,_ Roman Catholic, sir, and devout. Besides, she was not depressed, had come to terms with the death of her parents, and was looking forward to attending college in the future. Suicide is out of the question!"

Higgins thought about it for a second, not exactly sure what to make of the Catholic revelation. "So… then am I to assume, Mrs. Miles, er… Nurse Ogden, you were the last person to see her alive?" Higgins observed small signs of alarm on the faces of both his companions. _Interesting,_ he thought.

"Well," said a voice from the hallway belonging to Mrs. Kitchen. "The last person to see her alive would have been whoever killed her, don't you think, young man?" She stood with her hand on her hips, looking quizzically at Higgins. "Come away out of that sad place. I've come to tell you, your supper is ready. Made it fresh myself!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Dear Reader: Welcome Back! Thank you so much for your messages… here is your next installment.**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 9**

Sweat was collecting under his collar and under his arms, despite how cold the room had become. In his seventeen years he had never been so torn, angry or afraid. The emotions rolling within him were making it hard to hold his stomach, which is why he had retreated to the water closet for privacy and to prevent him from embarrassing himself in some bodily way. His fellow students arguing amongst themselves did not help either and, _Jack_ —well Jack was just a wreck.

He paced the small enclosure, ran water on his face and tried to straighten his mind as well as his appearance to bolster enough courage to tell the Constables what really happened. The face that stared back at him from the mirror looked ghastly in the candle light, odd shadows chasing over his face. He turned his back on the image and tried to wipe the frost from the inside of the window to look at the streetscape in the storm. That made no difference—snow or ice was packed against the panes from the outside rendering them opaque. He reminded himself his parents were going to find out eventually, so the least he could do was get ahead of the problem and maybe salvage something for himself in the process. Peeking out into the hall, he was relieved he appeared to be alone.

# # #

"Well, what do you think?" Brackenreid set the second lamp down and held the other one up high enough for Julia to study Marguerite's face.

"See here? The blood is leaving her face and pooling in her back, but you remember how much more flushed the skin was before. Her upper chest and neck are red too." She slid her eyes down to observe the girl's arm. "But her hands and the rest of what I can see of her body are not. That rules out certain poisons." She bent over Marguerite's face and took in a long breath. "I don't smell anything particularly odd, like bitter almonds or anything with a strong chemical scent, and there is no redness or burning near her mouth. And it does not obviously look like she aspirated and died that way. Nothing suggests suffocation."

"And the other smells, of course?" he queried.

"The emesis in the pail. She has soiled herself as well. We know it happens after death when the muscles relax, but I suppose it could have happened prior to death, such as from a seizure or cardiac event." She rested her hand again against Marguerite's body. "Here. What's this?"

Julia rooted around next to Marguerite's body and found an odd object. She pulled the covers off just enough to reveal a series of flannel-wrapped bricks keeping her body company under the down-filled covers. "Feel this. They are still warm to the touch."

"Between the quilt, the stove and these bed-warmers, no wonder Murdoch commented on how warm the lass was when we found her. I had counted that she had maybe only died a few minutes before we found her." Brackenreid frowned.

"Precisely." Julia made a decision and reached over to grasp Marguerite's head. "Her neck and jaw are a little stiff, and I can't easily open her eyelids."

"She's been gone longer than we thought, hasn't she?" He saw her nod. "Nurse Ogden, I've changed my mind. We need to examine her more closely." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Where do we start?"

# # #

George emerged from the cellar and William from the back hallway at the same time, to compare their findings on the electricity and water situation. While they worked side by side the two men had merely talked about the tasks in front of them, a welcome distraction. They split up to check on the systems' input and output before resuming the main floor. That also brought them back to the reality of Marguerite's death, where together, they stood in the kitchen grimly washing their hands. "I am so very sorry for your loss, William. It must bring back memories…" Crabtree offered in condolence, his kind eyes showing sadness.

All William knew was that his last words with Marguerite were in anger and disapproval. George was right—seeing her lying there reminded him of Liza…rekindled the flare of loss _and the stab of guilt_. He looked at his hands again and did not answer right away. "Yes, well… thank you. It is why I keep my faith, George. Something has to ultimately make sense of all this. It is Jack I am worried about. He seems very angry at the moment." He paused and admitted a sigh. "Something I quite understand." He put the towel down and looked out into the main area of the Inn. "Jack is not out there, just Mr. York there talking to the constables. I'd best go over there and see what he is up to. I'll also check the telephone again, just in case."

"Tell you what. You do that and I will go restock the wood; we have enough coal for the night I think but maybe I'll check just to be sure. Might borrow one of the students again if I may." Crabtree's face was gentle, large eyes full of understanding. William was once again grateful for the younger man's quiet support.

William readjusted his tie and jacket, wishing he had on a warmer vest. "Yes, gives them something to do, I suppose." He checked his watch. "It has been a while since I heard any thunder and the wind is dying down. I am afraid the snow is still falling quite heavily," he said as he squinted to spy out a clear corner of window pane, "but I think it is less frigid without the wind. I will also check the barometer and confirm the wind speed and temperature. That will protect the pipes at least."

"The snow is making it quieter, don't you find? Reminds me of home on the Atlantic…You too, William?"

William's face took on a sad, lopsided grin. "Yes, George. How did two easterners get pulled west to the big noisy city?" The smile vanished abruptly, replaced by his eyebrows knitting. "Excuse me, George."

# # #

William hurried over to the table where Constables Higgins and Jackson were talking with Francis York. The young man was clearly distressed and his voice was rising.

"I tell you, I know. _I know_! You have to believe me!" Francis was nearly shoutingby the time William crossed the few yards to the corner of the room. The constables were having trouble getting the young man to sit down and speak coherently.

William interjected with his most penetrating voice. "Mr. York. What is going on here? What are you talking about?"

He waited until he made eye contact with his student, and modulated his tone. "Mr. York. Talk to _me_ , Francis, not them. _To me_." William sat across from him, patiently placing his hands together on the table.

That did the trick. Francis sat down and started talking rapidly. "I didn't know it would end like this, Mr. Murdoch. You have to believe me. I thought we were just hazing Marguerite, you know, having a little fun at her expense. She wanted to be part of the club like the rest of us, and that way she was sworn to…well she would have to go along with us. But Fish had this bright idea to get back at Marguerite at the same time as initiating her into the club." He looked expectantly at his teacher, hoping for understanding. None was forthcoming.

"To what 'club' are you referring? And who is 'Fish'?" William asked. He noticed that the constables were making notes and were leaving the interrogation to him.

"All your honor students, Mr. Murdoch." He saw William looking puzzled. "Me, 'Red', 'Bean' and 'Fish, some of the others. It's become a tradition, didn't you know?" Francis rushed ahead. "We were not all that happy you brought a _girl_ into our classes, especially a _fifth form girl_." He was panting now, but calming down, looking at each of the adults around the table for reassurance.

"Intelligence has no age, nor gender, Mr. York," William offered automatically.

Francis saw the constable urge him to go on, took a breath and continued. "I think 'Fish' went too far." When he saw they did not comprehend he tried again. "We all have nick-names. Jack is 'Bean' of course, umm I'm 'Terrie', like Yorkshire terriers. You know, 'Fish', as in 'gills'?" Francis made an exasperate noise. "James _Gillies._ He _hated_ Marguerite and was very angry at you for allowing her in class and I think he put something in her drink. Before Marguerite, Fish had always been your top student, maybe your, er… _favorite_ student….And then when she found out about the cheating…. James and Jack thought that by including her in our club we could shut her up, and if they made her really sick that would silence her because she would get into trouble too." He stopped, momentarily horrified he said that out loud.

Williams head snapped up. "Cheating, Mr. York? Are you saying there were students cheating?" William's face flushed and his visage became very sharp. He laced his arms across his chest. "There is a strict honour code. No one in my classes needs to cheat and I have detected none of that. You are all bright and capable or you would not be there…."

"That's just it, Mr. Murdoch. We were helping underclassmen with their tests, and getting paid for it…" He ran out of steam, and slumped in the chair, slack-jawed and defeated.

The magnitude of the situation was becoming clear. William's pulse was now pounding in his ears and his flesh went cold, thinking of Marguerite. "Don't say another word!" He advised sharply, " _Come with me, and not another word."_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The constables decided to terminate the interview and to let William take the lad away, at least for now. Their small table was littered with notes. They peered at them together and discussed the case, _if there was one_ , as it was laid out so far. The proprietor came over to clear away used dishes.

"Mr. Crabtree, is there any way we can have a couple more lamps over here?" Constable Higgins spoke up to the proprietor. He felt an insistent nudge from Jackson. "And some more bread and jam, and umm, another round of beer, perhaps?" He hastily declined the additional soup that was offered. In a softer voice he said to his fellow officer, "I don't know what killed poor Miss Brown but any more of that soup would do me in. I feel all queasy as it is." He patted his stomach for emphasis.

Jackson grimaced in sympathy, having failed to heed Higgins' advice not to taste it. "Henry, I think we need to consider that Miss Brown may have died as a result of these shenanigans at the school, maybe an accident…"

"Or, maybe not. There might be a crime here after all. Especially if the students had a motive. They just got trapped here by the weather and ordinarily would have been long gone. I think we need to talk with that James Gillies….actually with all of them again. And this building is a nightmare—five floor including attic and basement, two stair cases, two exits, and all sorts of people unaccounted for. We need to get a handle on the sequence of events." He grumbled and rolled his eyes. "My notes are rather confusing, even to me," Higgins said as he studied his pages in the lamp-light. He sighed and grabbed his stomach again.

The other constable tried to cheer his work-mate up. "This might be your big break, Henry. If it _is_ a murder or death by misadventure," Jackson enthused as he made a face. "Mine too. I would not mind a good start at Station House No 4, myself."

"I think you should locate Mr. Gillies and have another chat with the boys, while I locate the new water closet," said Higgins with a disapproving tone. "Where are the lads, anyway?"

"I'll get 'em, Henry, starting with young Francis again. Mr. Murdoch is trying to protect his students I suppose." Jackson stood and made straight for Francis York, bringing him back to the table, teacher in tow. "Mr. Murdoch, I will allow you to observe and do your duty as you see it regarding your students, but you must not interfere." Constable Jackson got a grudging nod from the teacher.

He asked a few follow up questions of Francis and summarized from his notes. "You think Marguerite was made sick by James Gillies. Now you tell us you also think he put chloroform, of all things, in her drink…at best to get revenge on her for joining your class, and at worst deliberately making her ill and getting her in trouble so she would not tell about the cheating scandal?"

Francis nodded. "Joseph told me about the drug later. I wondered why 'Daisy' er…Marguerite got so _sick_."

"Why would a student do something like this?" asked Jackson. "Besides, it's just school, and an expensive one at that." He snorted. "I don't know much about the gentry, but won't the parents just get it covered up or buy their way out of the problem? And speaking of which, why would you need to take money, aren't you students all well off?" He crossed his arms on the table and leaned in.

William and his student stared at each other, neither willing to answer right away. Francislooked down first. William continued. "Some students are on scholarship or have sponsors, others have parents with money but a tight purse string. The real problem is not the money, it is the cheating. If it were to become known that the students cheated, all of them would be immediately expelled, and for Mr. York, James Gillies and Joseph Auburn, being expelled and not finishing would deny them admission to the prestigious European universities they have been working so diligently to enter. The board of trustees at Sommerbank is very conservative in their views and I imagine would not make any exceptions, including for the children of wealthy donors, in order to uphold the integrity of the school. They are, shall we say, firm on that point. The parents would suffer disgrace as well, and _their_ punishment of their sons would likely trump any the school could impose."

"You did not mention Jack Brown? What would his punishment be, or the effect on his education?" asked Jackson.

William paused, his shoulders stiffening. "If Jack was involved, he would be expelled of course. An education abroad is not open to him in any event; rather he is restricted in his choices, as a result of how his parents' estate was arranged.

Jackson looked skeptically at Francis York, who had a dejected appearance. "This sounds like an awful accident of some kind. More than that I find that hard to believe, son."

"As do I," William said. Francis shrank even further.

Jackson focused back on the other facts. "Could chloroform kill someone if they drank it, drank enough of it?"

# # #

While Jackson went to round up the remaining students, Henry took a candle and made his way to the back hall. He passed the pantry and cooking area, poked his head in, and thanked Mrs. Kitchen for the tray of beer and bread she was preparing. He examined the rear service door briefly and took a few notes, then went slowly up one flight, to the new toilet closest to the back stairs.

The door appeared ajar and he felt cold air sliding out from the room into the hallway. Thinking a window had gotten broken in the storm he was not looking forward to taking care of his needs in such a chill, and he almost backed away. On second thought, at that moment it was a damned sight better than his childhood memory of having to use a Gaspé privy in the middle of a heavy Quebec snow fall, so he pushed on the door so he could enter. It swung open with a bang that made him jump, the whole business putting his candle out. Swearing, he felt is way into the room, pushed the door shut and relit the candle to set it by the sink so he could get his jacket off, remove his braces and lower his trousers. Backing up, his foot caught on something and he overbalanced, frantically reaching for anything to break his fall.

That turned out to be unnecessary in a certain way: he fell buttocks-first on a figure who was occupying the seat. Henry's loud exclamation was impressively audible throughout the Inn, when he discovered it was the body of James Gillies.

 _ **To Be Continued…**_

 _ **# # #**_

 _ **Please feel free to review/comment. Do you want to guess now? (PM if you do)**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Dear Reader:** **Now—be honest—did you see** _ **that**_ **coming?** **I confess…I dunnit! I just could** _ **not**_ **let James Gillies live to become a sociopathic murderer and torture our heroes in any A/U of mine…. But did he kill Marguerite? Or didn't he?… & Where does that leave the suspect list?**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 11**

The commotion brought nearly everyone charging to the second floor, where each person took in events with varying amounts of disgust and disbelief. Higgins barely recovered his dignity, and his pants, in time to greet them. Still breathing heavily as people crowded around, the constable brought every ounce of authority he could muster to his command: "Everyone out!"

He asked for the lamps that Nurse Ogden and Mr. Brackenreid were carrying and put them into the small room so he and Jackson could reconnoiter. Unlike their exploration of Miss Brown's death, this was clearly a legitimate crime scene. James Gillies was fully dressed and splayed on the commode, a large gash in his head pronouncing the cause of death. There was no weapon evident.

Jackson took his colleague aside and whispered. "Er… Higgins, who do you think did this to him?"

"I have no idea." Higgins answered. "We can't just leave him there…It's undignified and the space is too narrow to work in." He suppressed another shudder about his encounter with the corpse.

William finished his offering of prayer and refocused on the scene in front of him. The two constables looked at each other for a long time, obviously flummoxed by this turn of events. Catching the eye of his trio of compatriots, each of whom nodded in return, William made a small noise to get everyone's attention.

"Gentleman, if I may. I think we need to take care of another matter first." William said clearly and calmly, as he checked his watch and put it carefully back in his vest. "Constables, I suggest we need to determine if there is someone else in this establishment we don't know about. Perhaps Mr. Brackenreid, as a representative of authority by virtue of his past police experience and as ex-alderman, will systematically search with Constable Jackson, starting in the attic, for instance? " He paused to test how his suggestion was being received. "I think everyone else needs to be gathered up and sequestered in a public area, perhaps?"

Higgins thought about it for a second and agreed it was a sound idea. "And then we can make notes on the body and move it?..." he continued.

William shifted his gaze. "Perhaps to Miss Brown's room on the third floor? Mr. Crabtree could get some blankets to use as a stretcher so we can get Mr. Gillies up there. And then Nurse Ogden can look at the wound for you if you like," William said, with Julia nodding encouragingly.

Neither Higgins nor Jackson were completely comfortable about accepting the help of potential suspects, but their resources were limited. Higgins took Brackenreid aside. "Sir, this seems most irregular," indicating with a gesture the whole tableau.

The older man chuckled. "I have found, in my experience, constable, that when there is a great problem ahead of you, it helps to enlist the smartest man in the room." Brackenreid gestured with his head to William, who was standing where he could observe everything.

Higgins coughed, finding the waver in his voice had not completely passed. He declared: "All right then. As long as either myself or Constable Jackson accompanies you and observes what you are doing, I think that you can help us start sorting this out. Please don't touch anything else: this is all evidence of a crime." No one argued with him.

George whispered to William before splitting up for their tasks. "I wonder what the other two of us found upstairs?" indicating Julia and Brackenreid.

"Yes." William countered, eyes narrowed in concentration. "I don't believe in coincidences."

# # #

Moving the body to the third floor was harder than expected, but James Gillies was finally placed on the floor of Marguerite's room. Once alone with his corpse, Julia gave a brief summary to Constable Higgins of her observations: a single blow to the head with what was likely a piece of wood, as evidenced by no blood cast off marks and some wood particles in the wound and on the victim's clothing. It did not help that practically everyone there handled wood that evening—so slivers or scrapes or sawdust on hands or clothing was useless as evidence. Considering how many fires were burning in various stoves and hearths and the kitchen, disposal of the weapon was also likely to have already been accomplished, but Higgins planned to take the time to look in each fire and each wood pile.

"Constable? May I have a word?" Julia asked. She hesitated a moment, but decided holding back this one portion of what she and Brackenreid discovered was ill-advised. "I was wondering if you would take a look at this with me?" She motioned Higgins over to Marguerite's body and showed him the bricks, illuminating her work by bringing the lamp over more closely.

He listened carefully. "So if Miss Brown was kept warm, then she could have died much earlier than originally thought. I am aware that temperature can be altered, and that the cold surrounding Mr. Gillies also throws any calculation off." He speculated about what else Nurse Ogden could add, and then discarded that. These deaths were tragic and as much as Higgins wanted to solve them, he also knew he needed to have good evidence and to follow procedures.

He ordered her down to the ground floor, closed and locked the door, and followed her to the stairs. As a constable, he had assisted at any number of crime scenes and picked up a trick or two, but the detectives he worked under never had much of a spark, tending to share little in the way of insights or innovation. _Probably jealously guarding their positions_ , he groused to himself. Then he sighed and wondered, not for the first time, what he thought he was playing at. _For God's Sake!...This one happened right under our noses_. Higgins tried very hard to focus on his duty, rather than on worrying that his and Jackson's careers were about to implode.

# # #

Once again, William, Julia, Brackenreid and George were by the service bar, talking in low tones. Five other people huddled by the hearth in the common room, the three remaining students surrounded a table nearest the stove in the dining room, and Mrs. Kitchen took a place at another table where she brought some apples to peel and crust to make and roll. Higgins and Jackson, feeling utterly at sea, retreated to their own corner where they would not overheard to sort out what they knew … _More to the point, what we don't know,_ thought Henry.

"Is this one accident and one murder, or two murders by separate individuals?" Jackson pondered.

Higgins was thinking out loud also. "It is hard to believe that there would be two separate, unconnected murders, and two separate murderers. In all my years I have never seen that before." He blushed briefly at the idea he should be talking like an old timer. "We need a motive."

"Motive indeed," Jackson echoed. Both officers shared a glance and sat back, contemplating two groups of people, currently the remaining suspects, within their scope of vision.

"Say…where did Mr. Brackenreid and Nurse Ogden come from? I did not see them downstairs," Higgins asked.

Jackson answered. "I didn't see them either. We will have to ask. Henry, we have more questions than answers."

He finished Jackson's thought. "Starting with how these deaths are related."

"If we take Mrs. Kitchen's word for things, I don't see where Mr. Crabtree had motive, despite having opportunity, to harm Miss Brown or Mr. Gillies. Even if he quote, 'Kills people for fun, dear, in those stories he writes,' unquote," Jackson read from his notes. "Mr. Brackenreid and I checked everywhere. We found no one and no evidenced of someone else being at the Inn. There was no indication the back door had been opened, in fact between the blowing and drifting snow it would be hard to see any foot prints. The door was nearly snowed-in, however, so as far as I can tell no one came in or out to harm Mr. Gillies. That does not cover Miss Brown's demise however." He grimaced and ran his hands through his hair. "Speaking of Mr. Crabtree, this does start to sound like one of those penny-dreadful stories of his."

Higgins shared the frustration. "I told you that Nurse Ogden showed me how Miss Brown's time of death might have been earlier than was first thought. At least Mr. Brackenreid doesn't seem to have had motive or opportunity. Nor the people who blew in with them from the trolley, since no one can place any of them above the ground floor before the discovery of Miss Brown or during the time when young Mr. Gillies died."

"So if they could not have been implicated for harming Miss Brown, which I still think is going to turn out to be a terrible accident, we need to consider what motive someone might have to harm Mr. Gillies," Jackson followed the logic. "Who does that leave us? One of the other students?"

Higgins frowned and flipped though his notes. "I have another thought. That teacher, Mr. Murdoch—he had an argument with Miss Brown. He had access to her _and_ Mr. Gillies, and could have been alone with Mr. Gillies and unobserved during the time when the student was likely killed. What if Mr. Murdoch did do something to the girl and Mr. Gillies figured it out? Or figured out the reason for the argument? His classmates, even Mr. Murdoch, commented on how bright a student he was—gave his teacher a run for the money in class." He tried to imagine what his detective at Station House No 4 would do at this juncture in an investigation, and waved distractedly to Mrs. Kitchen who pantomimed putting pie in the oven, while the two men contemplated their situation.

Jackson squared his shoulders and sat up abruptly. "Speaking of money—is that a motive? Maybe Mr. Murdoch dipped into his wards' estate to manage his debts and Miss Brown discovered it—and was going to tell."

"And he _was_ so insistent Miss Brown's death must be an unfortunate accident." Higgins was getting a little excited. "He also knew that we wanted to talk with Mr. Gillies again."

Jackson scratched his head, his big bluff face wrinkling. "But if all of that is true, why has he been so helpful?"

"Mr. Murdoch is supposed to be so smart himself—maybe he has been pretending to be helpful just as a way to dirty the water for us." Higgins felt his neck flush and his skin prickle uncomfortably. _I wonder if Jackson and I have been taken for fools,_ he thought. He looked towards the bar and at the soberly-clad, supposedly upright teacher in a whole new light.

 _# # #_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Julia was feeling confounded, and increasingly bewildered by William's reticence. His usually facile mind appeared to be churning but he showed little on his face and said even less. Nothing the three of them said prompted him to share his thoughts. She decided to try again. "William, we need to tell the constables what Mr. Brackenreid and I learned from Marguerite's body, and we need to go back up there and finish what we started," she said. "We need facts, evidence, _and data_." She was trying logic since the other methods of persuasion were fruitless. "If we tell them what we found and are allowed to examine her body further, we can find out what happened to poor Marguerite. You owe it to her…." Julia was not above a little manipulation as well.

William was rapidly going back over the sequence of events as the four of them put it together. He had put several small shot glasses on the bar as place holders, indicating where people were known to have been, and the proprietor had quietly taken down the chalkboard menu and wiped it clean, upon which William made notes and a series of intersecting circles. His mind was busy but he could bring forth no words. He did not like the implications that were coming clear to him.

"I don't like to admit it, but I reckon one of those lads over there may have done their friend in," Brackenreid reminded them. "And I am concerned that they had something more deliberate to do with Miss Brown's death…. We need a detective and a coroner…those constables are struggling." He glanced out through the small opening in the front curtains and checked his watch. "The weather is dying down. Maybe it should all wait until the Station House can be notified."

George looked from one to the other. "Those constables _are_ out of their depth, but they are the law and we did ask for the authorities to come and sort this out. I know Henry Higgins; don't underestimate him. He is young but he is a good man, very intuitive and honest." He was about to go on, when he whispered, "Here he comes now. Looks like they are starting with us."

William looked up and broke his silence. "Say nothing, please…Not yet."

Higgins observed that the four of them seemed tight-lipped and nervous. He approached the bar and looked with some curiosity at the collection of shot glasses and the chalk board, pausing to study them before inviting William to be interviewed again. William went with Higgins to their corner table, telling them he preferred to stand when a chair was offered. Jackson stood next to William, using his height and bulk to intimidate, while Henry smiled and insisted it was not an option. This power struggle went on long enough for Higgins to notice that Mr. Murdoch's immaculate black suit showed absolutely no evidence of sawdust or wood, nor was there any in his hair. His cuffs were pristine. _I suppose back wool would hide traces of blood,_ he reasoned, _and if he can look at pipes and wires without getting dirty perhaps he can bludgeon someone._

William sat stiffly, reluctantly, and placed his hands on the table and waited with a closed face. Higgins studied the teacher, weighing the approach to take. He asked to see the palms and backs of the other man's hands. There were no marks, cuts or abrasions. It only put a small seed of doubt in his mind, but doubt none the less.

Higgins decided to go with his strength and nodded to Jackson as he spoke very softly. "Mr. Murdoch, we have determined that you had means and opportunity to harm both Miss Brown and Mr. Gillies. As for motive, we know you and Miss Brown argued and that she wanted to disclose something to her brother and we think it was about you. It is time you told what that argument was actually about."

William was momentarily impressed with some of the young constable's observations. It matched his own calculations and pointed to a shrewder mind than that for which he and his friends had given the man credit. He took his time answering. "Miss Brown was in my room in her nightclothes and appeared to be ill or, I thought perhaps intoxicated. I ordered her out and up to her room. That is all."

Jackson waited a moment, drawing out the silence. "Mr. Murdoch, we know Miss Brown said, quote: 'I am going to tell', unquote. What was she going to tell? Was it about money, Mr. Murdoch? Are you skimming from her parents' estate?"

Higgins saw that did not appear to cause any reaction in the teacher other than a slight grimace. A new, more sinister idea emerged. "Or something even more threatening to you? Perhaps you were inappropriate with Miss Brown, a rich sixteen year old who was already enamoured with her much older guardian? Was she going to ruin you, Mr. Murdoch?" Higgins kept his voice level and soft, one tactic at least he learned from watching his detective do interviews. "And did Mr. Gillies find out and did you have to kill him too?" Higgins expected almost any response except the one he got.

"Miss Brown indicated she wanted to tell me about something that happened at school, but, to my shame, I was angry with her for her behavior and refused to listen. If I had, perhaps she would still be alive." William felt his face flare as he struggled for composure, hoping his long practice at keeping a neutral façade would not fail him.

"All right, if not money or love, how about this," Higgins continued, voice louder now. "Revenge. You thought Mr. Gillies harmed your ward in some way and you confronted him and killed him. Alternatively, he found out you harmed Miss Brown, or about the argument and _he_ confronted _you_ , threatened you, tried to blackmail you… and you killed him," he said as he shifted forward. "Or perhaps you didn't really mean to kill him? Self-defense and then you panicked?" As soon as he said it, Higgins realized that the man across the table from him was unlikely to be the sort to panic. It also appeared as if the wheels were turning in the teacher's head and he had momentarily stopped paying attention. Higgins and Jackson looked at each other.

Infuriated by what he thought was the teacher's outwardly disinterested attitude, Jackson raised his voice further. "Mr. Murdoch, I don't think you appreciate this. We are considering arresting you for murder!"

Higgins stared at the man sitting rigidly on the other side of the table. He slowly realized that as upset as Mr. Murdoch was, he did not have a guilty appearance. In fact, Higgins thought Mr. Murdoch might be protecting someone, but did not feel he needed to protect himself. "Mr. Murdoch wha…" All three men turned in reaction to the ruckus storming towards them.

"Stop it! _I said Stop it!"_ Joseph Auburn launched himself across the room, trailed by his fellow students and startling everyone with the ferocity of his cry. He came up to the table and banged his hand on the surface, tears streaming down his red face. "I loved Marguerite. She was the sweetest, smartest person I knew. Gillies _hated_ her. He killed Marguerite-he tried to lie his way out of it but I know he did it. He did not want me to tell about the cheating and about the hazing—he thought it would all just go away if we said nothing—but then Marguerite was dead! He gave her something at the school or else after we got here to the Inn, more chloroform, he must have." Joseph shouted angrily. "Gillies lied to you before, Constable. He said he was always with Jack, as if to alibi Jack, but that's not true," Joseph nearly choked, nearly spitting this last part out in between gasps, eyeing Jack whose face went white. "He did it to protect himself. He wanted us to stay quiet and he kept saying everything would be all right. I just got so mad…""

William stood and caught the young man, a strain in his voice. "Oh, Joseph. _What did you do_?" He got in front him so he could see his student eye to eye. "I caution you to silence, Mr. Auburn." William steadied a hand on Joseph's shoulder. "Sit, down." Joseph sat with a _thunk_ like his legs were cut out from under him and grabbed his gut.

William turned to the stunned officers. "We don't know what killed Marguerite Brown. Mr. Gillies was capable of finding or distilling any number of chemicals in addition to chloroform. He attended a University chemistry class—one I arranged for him in fact, to challenge his mind. It would pain me greatly if he contributed to her death, but there is no proof he did so. " He paused, then straightened, looking over at the remaining students, behind whom were Julia, George and Mr. Brackenreid. "Gentleman," William said to the room, nodding in apology to Julia, "I will remind you this is all speculation."

Brackenreid walked slowly up to the table. "But we know now, whatever she consumed at the school was not what killed her," he said flatly. "We don't think she died by ingesting chloroform, then or later."

Higgins found the courage to challenge the ex-alderman. "Sir. What do you mean, now we know?"

Julia answered. "Constables. Mr. Brackenreid and I examined Miss Brown's body. We got, er…interrupted before we could finish. Chloroform dissipates rather quickly-that is why it is used as an anesthetic. There was no smell of chloroform on her person or in her emesis. There is also no evidence of a typical poison, such as cyanide or strychnine, and I doubt it was heroin or something similar—because Miss Brown, by her history, was very allergic to it and tended to immediately vomit with any opiate - although her blood and urine will need definitive laboratory analysis. She did not aspirate and choke on her emesis—there was no indication of petechial hemorrhage in her eyes. In fact, she looked like she had a heart attack. We think something else killed her, and it was certainly someone other than William Murdoch."

A keening sound erupted from the rocking form of Joseph Auburn. "You mean 'Fish' was telling the truth? I killed him for nothing?" His face was desperate. His friends had horror-stricken expressions on their faces as well with the dreadful truth sinking in. All suddenly appeared quite young and frightened; Jack looked like he would be sick.

Higgins motioned Jackson over to the student's side. "Mr. Auburn, I think you should take Mr. Murdoch's advice and remain silent. I am placing you under arrest in the death of James Gillies and we are going to secure you so you cannot run away, understand? We still don't have proof of how Miss Brown died- due to an awful misadventure or if someone went out of their way to take her life. That someone can include Mr. Gillies, I suppose. His motive being to silence her from ratting you out, over cheating at your fancy school." He wheeled over to Julia and Brackenreid with his displeasure written all over his face. "And _you_ two interfered with a police investigation and with a corpse. What in Heaven's Name were you thinking?" He was gratified when he saw the two of them wince.

"To help, Henry," George spoke up, "to help. I think you could allow Nurse Ogden and Mr. Brackenreid to show you the evidence and then you can decide."

 _ **To Be Continued….**_

 _ **# # #**_

 _ **Did you do your own Venn diagram? Private Message if you think you know the rest of the story…**_

" _ **Follow" to get alerts for final chapters—I guarantee a surprise and I won't make you wait too long. Please write/review—it's easy to do, and if you have never done so before, give it a try—I will respond (as long as you are signed in and 'allow' it)-rg**_


	13. Chapter 13

**Dear Reader: Here's you finale. Thanx for hanging in there (you know who you are! :) and the support and feedback. Creative guesswork too!**

 **# # #**

 **Chapter 13**

Jackson handcuffed Joseph Auburn to the balustrade railing then asked the innkeeper to help mind the young man. Crabtree agreed. Undecided what to do next and not really clearing Mr. Murdoch from suspicion, the constables discussed handcuffing Mr. Murdoch as well but in the end decided he needed to come with them so they could keep an eye on him and his reactions. The five of them trudged to the third floor with all the lamps they could carry along with a collection of magnifying glasses in William's possession. Inch by inch, Constables Higgins and Jackson scoured Marguerite's room before allowing Mr. Brackenreid and Nurse Ogden to attend to Marguerite's corpse. Brackenreid summarized the steps he and Julia took earlier and then they got to work, under the watchful gaze of the officers.

It took barely five minutes of searching to find the small hole in Marguerite's chest, obscured by generous amounts of freckles. "Gentlemen. This looks like an injection mark. It is too fine for a blade and looks very like a medical needle. The needle must have passed through the lace in her nightgown, I would guess." Julia showed each of the officers her finding and then they allowed William and Brackenreid to observe the tiny wound. She continued. "See how her skin is mottled? When we first saw her, her face was red and her chest from the, umm…her bosom up, was also red. I think this is where she was injected."

"With what?" Jackson asked.

"Potassium chloride…or perhaps with nothing," answered William. He had been quietly observing from the corner and this statement recalled his presence to the rest of the room. "The heart works like a double pump system. Blood enters and is pumped through the chambers—increased pressure closes the inlet valve and opens the outlet valves. Essentially drawing then pushing the blood through the circulatory system. Air in an artery or injected directly to the heart chamber would interrupt the flow. An old-fashioned syringe would do nicely. The heart muscle would pump but if there is nothing _to_ pump the system breaks down rapidly. The heart will …stop."

"Mr. Murdoch. How do you know this?" Higgins asked, wondering if the other man was about to confess.

William sighed. "I am familiar with the physics and hydrodynamics of the heart. And I helped, well…we," indicating himself and Julia, "helped Mr. Crabtree with one of his stories. He wanted a method of death that did not require a prepared poison…"

All eyes swiveled to the large leather medical bag sitting on a side table next to Marguerite's bed. Julia started for the bag when Jackson stopped her. Inside he found a leather case with four glass syringes nestled in a velvet-lined rectangle.

Higgins looked from nurse to teacher and back again, formulating yet another idea. "Nurse Ogden. It occurs to me we only have your word that Miss Brown was alive when you left her room…." He approached her, looking expectantly.

Julia felt immobilized, a chill invading her body at the same time her heart began to pound out of her chest. _Oh my God! Not again…_ she thought. She sent a frantic glance toward William, whose expression mirrored her own.

"This is your medical bag and your equipment. Perhaps we have this all wrong after all." He saw the nurse gasp and start to protest. He also saw Mr. Murdoch rise to her defense, rapidly altering Higgins' theory of the case.

William erupted. "Now see here. You are making wild accusations…." He tried to continue but Higgins cut him off.

The constable recalled that Mrs. Kitchen went on about loyalty whilst she was gossiping earlier; loyalty and _love_ … "Perhaps it is about love after all. I wonder: Nurse Ogden, did you kill Miss Brown to protect Mr. Murdoch? Perhaps there was more to the murder of your husband, the rumors of an affair?" Higgins backed up and brought the whole room into focus. "Perhaps even collusion?"

"Bollocks! Are the two of you daft?" Brackenreid shouted. "I will vouch for the both of them." He stared hard at each constable in turn, hoping they would be intimidated and back down, a tactic much like he employed when closing a business deal to his advantage.

Higgins' back was up now as he was rather proud of his deductions. "Sir. Unless you can tell me you had eyes on both of them the whole time, I'm afraid your statement holds no weight." His breath was heavy and he stood straighter.

William spoke softly, trying to hide his anguish: _Is it possible something I did set these tragic events in motion?_ He gathered himself enough to intervene, surprising everyone by saying: "He's right, Mr. Brackenreid. We are viable suspects if one assumes motive and opportunity along with this particular method." He paused to allow that admission to sink in. "I said _assumes_. The problem with deductive reasoning is that if the initial assumption is incorrect, the results will also be incorrect." He pointed at the syringe case. "Nurse Ogden. You tended to Mrs. Kitchen this afternoon did you not?"

She nodded affirmatively. "Yes. She received her usual injection."

"And did you wash and dry the syringe as you customarily do?" She reviewed her actions, washing and drying the device and sliding it into the case using a soft cloth. She agreed again, grateful that he was taking command of the situation.

"Where are you going with this?" inquired Jackson.

William ignored him. Instead he continued with Julia. "Your bag was downstairs for a while, unattended, and then it was up here for the rest of the time, also unattended, was it not?" She continued to nod. "So anyone could have access to your bag and then could have returned the syringe, could they not?"

"Oy! Mr. Murdoch, answer the question," Higgins was agitated now.

Instead, he turned to Julia and said quietly and urgently: "Nurse Ogden, do you trust me?" Julia's heart was racing again and her ears were ringing. She did not exactly know what he planned to do to but looking into his eyes and seeing the fierce intention in them, she could only whisper "Yes."

William finally answered the constable. "This is a logic problem. Where I am going is about something Mr. Crabtree also put in one of his unpublished scribblings-the use of finger-marks."

Julia's breath caught when she understood what he was implying. He trusted her that she did not use the syringe to harm Marguerite, but that there was a risk that her finger-marks could be on one of the syringes since she handled them, and the ploy could back-fire on her.

# # #

Reassembled downstairs, Constable Higgins tried to retake the lead on the investigation, but found he still needed help in understanding what the teacher was talking about. "So, Mr. Murdoch, tell me about this logic problem of yours."

William set the small chalk board upright and explained a Venn diagram: how the intersecting circles he drew mapped out who might have motive, means and opportunity. The constables peered at the image, but did not comment, each unsure that they exactly followed, but dutifully taking notes like school boys.

"How do we know there will be finger-marks on the syringe?" Higgins asked.

"We don't. But the new set of reasoning goes thusly. Finger-marks are a relatively new scientific idea for the police…still not even universally accepted by law enforcement nor supported by courts—and hardly common knowledge. But it is evidence, none the less. Constables, does your detective pay attention to finger-marks in solving his cases?"

Jackson and Higgins looked at each other and shrugged. Higgins said: "We're listening," unwilling to admit that new ideas were often pushed aside by old detectives and inspectors in favor of the tried and true.

"Almost twenty years ago, about 1880, Dr. Henry Faulds published a paper in the science journal _Nature_ on the subject of finger-marks for identification and how to record them with printing ink. He also established how to recover them from a glass surface, in his case a vial. That would be similar to a syringe." William clasped his hands behind his back, falling into a lecturing pose. "My supposition, now, is that someone used that syringe to inject air, or perhaps something else, into Miss Brown and, lacking knowledge of finger-marks, would not wipe theirs off. I believe that testing the syringe will reveal the culprit."

Brackenreid's eye brows rose when he heard Murdoch's proposal. While the constables were conferring he hissed to William. "Er…Murdoch, a word, please." He took the other man's arm and squeezed him over out of earshot. "Taking a risk, aren't you?" he whispered. "You could get yourself, or…hung." Brackenreid had followed the chalk diagram perfectly well, including the implications.

"Perhaps. But the truth will come out one way or another…" William said softly, before returning to the rest of the room and facing the two officers.

Jackson and Higgins put their heads together before deciding that the idea Mr. Murdoch was proposing was intriguing. "If there are no marks then it does not take either the nurse or the teacher off the hook, nor anyone else for that matter," whispered Higgins to his fellow officer. "Might actually point more to them—or is this just another rabbit hole we are being sent down to confuse us…?"

"Aye," Jackson said, just as softly. "But, even better, if there _is_ only one kind of these finger-marks then it points to both the killer and the weapon used." Jackson was getting excited again. He reminded himself that to be promoted took solving cases—big cases. _Working Station House No. 4's beat is already much better than my previous position,_ he thought rather gleefully _. I always heard that No. 4's area had the lions' share of cases…turns out that was true_. He concluded by saying: "What do we have to lose?"

Higgins had no answer for that. He stood and announced. "All right Mr. Murdoch. Show us how this works."

William began. "Nurse Ogden. May I borrow your sketching supplies?"

Every one gathered around as William retrieved the material from Julia's valise, and ground some of the sketching charcoal chalk to a fine powder. He had Jackson pick up a clean glass then set it back down, then using one of Julia's small paint brushes, gently tapped the powder onto the surface of the glass and blew the excess away. Using ink supplied by George and another brush, he inked Jackson's fingers and pressed them on Julia's sketch pad. He then had Higgins compare the mark to the ink print.

"Remarkable! It works! Jackson, these are exact replicas." Higgins was impressed against his own will. "You are now going to do this with the syringe?" He showed it to Jackson who admired the result as well.

"Yes," said William, and then he asked Higgins: "If you would be so kind as to collect prints from Mr. Gillies of all ten fingers as well as from Nurse Ogden, for comparison purposes. Constable Jackson can watch me look for marks on the syringes."

William brushed each syringe in turn. Finger-marks appeared on the third one he worked on. He set the item aside and stepped back, offering a reassuring glance to Julia. Never the less, he held his breath while Higgins and Jackson, armed with the strongest lamps, a large magnifying glass and the still-wet prints, slowly and deliberately compared Julia's to the syringe. Finally, Higgins stood up and pronounced, "No match." Julia's legs buckled slightly in relief.

Next they compared James Gillies' finger-marks. All three students glared at the men conducting the examination, certain it would reveal the truth: That Gillies had done in poor Marguerite and that would be the sad end to all of this. Joseph continued to mutter under his breath that it would show he was right after all in taking revenge, justifiable revenge at that. Jack appeared strangely relieved. Fourteen people held their breath—the Inn was quiet as the streets outside, and the atmosphere as heavy and blanketed.

"No match!"

A collective, disbelieving groan echoed in the room. Higgins and Jackson were surprised themselves. After pausing to regroup, the constables moved on to take William's marks, then one by one the rest of the people, even young Master John Brackenreid and compared each on in turn. All to no purpose. By the time the last set was done, the smell of burning sugar was wafting from the back of the Inn. George excused himself and sought out Mrs. Kitchen to help her with what he assumed were over-cooked pies. He sent her out with a clean set of glassware and cider on a tray.

By this time the constables were frustratedly arguing with themselves. "We missed something, Slugger. One of the people that came in and out of here must be responsible, or maybe this finger–mark thing is not so well accepted because it is not as accurate as Mr. Murdoch says it is…"

Higgins looked up and gave Mrs. Kitchen a smile as she handed him a glass and put a jug of cider down on the table. She told them: "There you go, boys. Pie will be up soon too." He continued to look up at her hand. At the fingers around the glass she was offering him. At the fingers with a certain patterns of whorls and ridges he had been studying more than a dozen separate times, so much so he had memorized them.

His face fell and his forehead and hairline shot up. He continued to hold the glass and slowly got to his feet. "Mrs. Kitchen?"

# # #


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14** **& ****Epilogue**

"Yes, dear?" Mrs. Kitchen smiled sweetly at Constable Higgins, flirting a little again. She appeared excited by the attention.

"Mrs. Kitchen, we need to talk. Please sit down." He gestured to the table. "Jackson, please get the ink."

George and William followed the movements of the constable and came over. "What is going on?" asked George.

"I'm sure it is just a formality, correct?" William was looking a little unsure and stared at the woman's hand. He picked it up and looked at the palm and fingers, before taking a huge breath. He made a great effort to speak as neutrally as possible. "Mrs. Kitchen, did you touch Nurse Ogden's medical bag or anything in it for any reason?"

"Why of course I did. I had to move it out if the way. Why?" She continued to beam, unconcernedly. "Oh, are you going to paint my fingers too?" She dropped her voice and whispered. "Is it a game of some kind?"

"William? What is it?" Julia came over now, and this time touched his arm to get him to respond, as a far away and pained look came over his face.

"I think we found our killer," said Higgins, coming over and taking the required finger-marks from the unresisting old woman. He held them up and used the glass to compare. "These match. I don't understand it, but Beatrice Kitchen, I am going to arrest you in the death of Marguerite Brown. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

William started to blurt out "Don't…" when Mrs. Kitchen stopped him with smile and a gentle touch.

"Don't worry dear, you know I never lie. Just like you, Mr. Murdoch. It's a sin…" She beamed. "These strapping lads," winking and indicating the constables, "can ask me anything they want to…after all I answered every question they asked..."

George looked at her, confusion all over his countenance. He voice was pained. "But why? Why would you do such a thing?" He took her hands in his, tears glistening in his large eyes.

She pointed to William. "I overheard you and Marguerite arguing. I knew she came from your room, that little hussy, all in her lace nightgown making her noise. I could not let her stain your reputation, now could I? Not after all you have done for me…" She dropped her gaze coquettishly, and said in a confidential tone. "I told you before, Constable Higgins. _All_ the ladies like Mr. Murdoch, but, sadly for us, he is never interested." Mrs. Kitchen stared directly at William whose countenance turned a deathly colour, and then at Julia who gawped at the scene in disbelief.

Mrs. Kitchen continued, unfazed by the facial expressions of her audience. "I know what goes on—I have seen it all in my day.." As if that explained everything, as if it explained _anything_...

Higgins took a moment to regain control of the situation. He flipped through a copy of Mr. Murdoch's chalk board notations in his notebook. "Mrs. Kitchen," he said, "Exactly what is it you did and how did you do it?" He shot a warning look to silence the teacher who was taking in a breath to protest again. Higgins was not quite convinced that there wasn't another angle to this story; perhaps the old lady was just protecting someone else?

Mrs. Kitchen smoothed her apron and smiled even brighter, obviously pleased with herself. "Well, I heard about using the needle syringe from you," pointing to her employer, "from one of your stories, Georgie. And then Nurse Ogden, you are always so careful when you give me my examination and my injection, explaining just every little thing as you go. So _informative,_ you are. I do so hope you finish your studies, as we could use a lady doctor in this town…" Mrs. Kitchen appeared to drift off into her own thoughts, so Higgins _ah-hemmed,_ to bring her back. "Oh, yes, where was I? Well, it was just there and seemed so simple, painless really, and I thought it was a splendid idea. I just put it in her chest and pushed." She demonstrated in the air then folded her hands primly on the table.

William gasped, unable to hold back. "Mrs. Kitchen! Marguerite was arguing about a school matter, not about anything having to do with me. How could you possibly have misconstrued?" He was almost pleading with her, the whites of his eyes signalling his distress.

She giggled at him. "Mr. Murdoch, for a smart man sometimes you are most unaware." She saw he was serious and she became momentarily confused. "Oh, well. Are you sure that's so? It will be all right, you know. I go to confession and that will take care of the matter, don't you think?" Mrs. Kitchen looked pleasantly from one person to the other for a long time with such an angelic demeanor it started to sink in to those gathered around that perhaps she wasn't quite able to appreciate the tragic depravity of her actions.

# # #

No one at the Flower Inn slept well that night, and the sparkling morning next day was left to be appreciated by other hearts, elsewhere in the city. A crew of enterprising fellows, supplemented by workers from the Trolley Company and inmates from the Don Jail, had started digging Toronto the Good out of several feet of snow and the telephone came back on, but not the electric service. Constable Higgins called his station house and was advised to get his suspects to the jail as best he could and that it would take a while longer for a coroner or detective to appear to tend to the bodies on the third floor. Constable Jackson, acting on a tip from George Crabtree, commandeered a sleigh and horse from nearby stables to transport Mrs. Kitchen and Mr. Auburn for booking. The four travelers, while appreciative of the landlord's generosity, could not wait to leave the premises, taking off as soon as there was a small path through the street.

Throughout this time, William Murdoch barely spoke. He found a lad to deliver a note to Father Clemens, advising him of events and asking the priest to come by to comfort Jack and then see Mrs. Kitchen at the jail. Then he made arrangements to get the remaining student back to Sommerbank where his parents sheltered during the storm. William took off, stiff-backed and weary, riding double with Francis York through the snow on the last available horse.

Brackenreid, George and Julia took a table by the stove to gather their wits before parting. They kept their voices quiet to spare Jack any additional grief. _As if that was even possible,_ Julia thought. She was troubled. "I hope that Mrs. Kitchen's situation is appreciated by the courts. She had no idea what she was doing, I am sure of it. Perhaps her, umm…disease is rotting her brain, or something else ails her. No one knew it was getting _quite_ that bad, no one could have known…" she said, as much to convince herself as to hear what it will sound like in a court room. Julia began to wonder if the conflagration in Mrs. Kitchen's boarding house might have been something other than only a chimney fire.

"Might save her the noose, poor duck," George said. "The French-pox took one of my aunties that way, she lost all track of her senses." George did not need to say any more than that—it was a rather open secret that his now elderly aunties at one time were dock-girls. What was kept quite hidden was that Beatrice Kitchen had been in the same trade before she found the Church and Mr. Kitchen—she was the "bee" to their "flowers," a great joke at the time.

Brackenreid looked thoughtful for a minute, then sent a question to Julia. "I notice you hesitated about arranging for your father to talk with the authorities about Mrs. Kitchen's, _a-hem_ , condition." He was embarrassed discussing such things, but curiosity won out. "She's clearly, crackers… er… _not right,_ that's obvious."

Julia just stared back at him, unease evident in the sudden tension in her posture. "We don't know for sure what has addled her mind." She looked at each of her companions and allowed her shoulders to drop. She believed these two might have guessed at the problem regarding her father, but hardly the full scope of the situation considering her efforts to disguise it. "Gentlemen, my father…that is to say for quite some time my father has not been actively engaged in his medical practice. First my husband helped out, but since his death I have been…taking over his existing cases." Julia stumbled a bit, but having said what she already did, she saw no reason to stop now. "My father has Charcot's disease. It's a wasting illness, horrible really. He no longer gets out of bed…he can't speak." She hoped there was sympathy in the men's eyes along with their shock. "So, you see, he won't be able to offer much. I hope they will listen to me, instead."

"I'm sure they will, they'll have to…" George hoped to reassure her. "There has been enough heartache…"

Brackenreid looked at his own son, his whole being filled with love, and ached at the thought of ever losing him or his brother. "Murdoch blames himself, I'd bet. Who knows how those young people would have turned out or what they would have done if they had lived? A terrible waste, if you ask me."

"Quite," Julia said softly. "So many things change the trajectory of a life, do they not?"

Neither man was brave enough to comment, merely sat in silent contemplation of the truth she uttered. After a while, Julia thanked her host and gathered her belongings, bidding the men good day and set out to trudge her long way home. While walking she reviewed the events of the last day and sourly recalled an old Chinese curse: _'May you live in interesting times.'_

Oddly, for once, she thought she was going to be grateful for the monotony of her life and the unchanging demands on her - up to and including her father's decline and rapidly approaching end. She recognized her ambivalence about that particular inevitability: her father's death will remove the last barrier standing between her and a return to medical school. _Interesting times_ … _a curse, it seems, indeed,_ she thought. _There is nothing else that would get in the way of my heart's desire, was there?_ As she rounded a corner, looking at the snow and ice ever so delicately frosting the tree branches, she giggled in relief, aware that it was stress that was driving the inappropriate humor.

 _Perhaps I am foolish to regret my current life, or want to change it in the least._ That idea lasted about two more difficult blocks, before her thoughts magnetically drifted back to William Murdoch. _He certainly makes life interesting_ ….

# # #

Brackenreid and Crabtree finished their tea and prepared to part company. Master John was washed and fed and told his father he was up for trying the train again to Niagara Falls, since the tracks were being cleared. "Good lad! That's my boy. Nothing stops a Brackenreid!" the proud father uttered. George was weighing not joining his wife and family after all, and thought he'd discuss it with William upon his return from Sommerbank.

The two men fell silent, appreciating the circumstances of the past twenty-four hours, each privately relieved that the tragedy only tangentially brushed by them. George turned his dilemma over in his head for a moment, but decided to ask his companion what was still preying on his mind. "Do you think _he_ knows?" gesturing with his thumb towards the front door, a worried look crossing his face.

Brackenreid understood and hesitated, not sure he should answer. "I suppose he must. The man is a bloody realist for all his high and mighty ideals."

"Will they sack him, then?" George asked, sadly.

Brackenreid grunted. "Murdoch's days are numbered at Sommerbank. The board will likely let him finish the year if he is lucky, but two dead students in his care and one on the way to jail? Young Master Jack expelled? … No." He shook his head. " _No_. They will ask him to move on without so much as a fare thee well." _They will also congratulate themselves on their supposed good judgement in not appointing him to be Head of School, the self-righteous pricks…_ he thought angrily.

"I can't see any good to come from all this. Unless Mr. Murdoch wants to work full time on his inventions. Of course he still has poor Jack to look after." George's imagination was flowing again. "Say, maybe he could become a detective of some kind, or a police consultant like that Sherlock Holmes character? Yes, I can see that… he even has a trademark hat!"

Brackenreid chuckled. "He might make headway with Nurse Ogden, at least after he gets on his feet again. Two over-intelligent people might make a good match after all." He thought seriously for a moment. "I suppose he could work for me…he makes a marvelous engineer..."

George's face was bright and his eyes shining, already spinning a new tale in his head. "I have an idea —what if the new heroes of next story are just like a bad joke—a teacher, a plumber, a nurse walk into a bar and let's say it's them and the bar-keep that solve mysteries together? It think it could be quite inventive, don't you?"

This time Brackenreid looked at his companion full in the face before bursting out laughing. "George, that's the most hare-brained one I've heard in a long time!"

 **END**

 **# # #**

 **Thank you Maureen Jennings and the show writers for allowing us to play with their characters.**

 **Author's Note: Thank you for coming along for the ride! This is my first A/U venture, the first time I used a standard "formula" to create my story (something called the 'two body plot') and the first time I was graced with a MM-knowledgeable beta-reader. Reviews are hereby solicited—please write- you will help me get better! What worked? What didn't? The plot? The characters? Is there any appetite to use this A/U again for another story? Thanx-rg**


End file.
